Out of the Blue
by Eileen Blazer
Summary: Once upon a time, a desperate man sold his only son's soul. Nearly eighteen years later, Remy LeBeau is visited by a man with a special claim and the XMen learn that some debts are harder to repay than others. COMPLETE!
1. Default Chapter

I don't know why I'm posting this. I'll update Slowly, Silently... I don't know. Like, this week. But I like to juggle fics -it keeps me from writers block- plus, I seem to be on this weird supernatural kick and I'm afraid if I don't post this, the muses will revolt. Hey, it's a bit different at first, but stick around, even if the beginning is a bit confusing. It clears up by the end of this first chapter, I think. Remember, I own nothing, except Johnny and May Black. Don't sue. It's not worth it.

* * *

**Out of the Blue**

**By Eileen Blazer**

May 2005

First chapter dedicated to my friend, melancholic, a fantastic writer on the site who cheered me on. Definitely check out her stuff when you're done here!

_The X-Men learn some debts are harder to repay than others, when someone comes to claim something that belongs to him –Remy LeBeau._

* * *

_Mississippi 1984_

Johnny Black wiped his sweating hands roughly on his jeans and peered over the top of the soda stack to get a better view of the cashier, a thin, nerdy boy with acne and curling wisps of blue hair. The cashier boy strummed his hands along the edge of the counter and kept the beat of some punk pop song playing on the radio. He was maybe seventeen, only a short distance from Johnny's nineteen years, but he sure wasn't carrying the weight of a world on his shoulders, not like Johnny had been doing ever since May Klass told him she was seven weeks late.

That day, he'd been playing shortstop for his high school baseball team, the future set up so nice for him. Nine months later, Johnny was married, living in a trailer, wondering desperately where he was going to find the money to feed his family. The baby was only a month old, and May should've been able to give him milk, but the doctor said she wasn't healthy enough for that.

His job at the laundry mat just wasn't enough. He needed money or else none of them would survive. Johnny Black wiped the perspiration from his brow and took a deep breath. Something heavy weighed down the bottom of his pocket. Mick said it was untraceable, but Johnny figured there was a fifty-fifty chance the older man was lying. But his family needed food and their options were running out fast.

He had to do it. Johnny hardened his heart and steeled his soul. It wasn't easy; his mother, rest in peace, had brought him up right, like he wanted to do with his own child. But she'd never been in his position. He stepped around the island of soda, and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, where one coiled around the silver. His eyes scanned the area one last time and found it desolate, save him and the cashier. The sound of a hungry baby's cry echoed in his mind. He had to do it.

The boy looked up, raised an eyebrow at the sweating man. His eyes were blue, the color of sorrow and tragedy. His mouth turned up at the corners. "Can Ah help you?"

"Yeah," Johnny said quietly. He licked his lips and nodded, "Yeah, you can give me all your money." He pulled his hands from his pockets to reveal the shimmering gun. "Right _now_." His voice didn't crack like he thought it might. He was better at this than he'd hoped.

The cashier's eyes went wide and his jaw slipped open. His back found the rack of cigarettes, where it knocked several packs of Marlboro to the concrete ground. They made a light crunching sound on contact. "Aw man Ah don't want no trouble-"

"There ain't going ta be no trouble," Johnny insisted. "Just give me all your money an' Ah'll leave here quietly. That's not so hard, is it? Just open up that register an' hand me its contents."

"Don't hurt me," the cashier whined softly, like a kicked puppy. "Please man."

"The money," Johnny demanded harshly. His resolve was weak glue; it wasn't going to hold him together forever. He gestured with the gun. "Let's _go_."

"Can't move…" the cashier cried out, "Please. Don't hurt me. Please. _Please_."

"Damn it!" Johnny roared. He had to get that money and get away fast, that was essential to the Plan. He slammed his fist against the counter in frustration and a shot rang out, shocking both him and the boy. He looked down at his hand, at the smoking gun, and at the boy, whose mouth was dribbling red fluid…

_Oh God. Blood. Oh God Oh God oh God._ Johnny gasped and craned his neck to see the boy better. His hands were wrapped around his stomach, but the wound was clear enough: the center of his shirt was stained dark red and spreading fast, like a plague of locus across an open plain.

"Look what you've done now," the voice was cold, and hit Johnny like a crushing wave of ice, so that he felt like he might never feel real warmth again. The world around him seemed to shift into slow motion. He yanked his hand away from the gun as his eyes turned to see a tall man in a black suit smiling at him, pleasantly.

"Ah didn't…"

"Oh, you did," the man assured him, as he moved to check the boy's pulse. He shook his head. "Uh oh. He's fading fast, Johnny. The ambulance will never get here in time. You've gone and killed a boy."

"How do you know my name?"

The suited man didn't respond, just dipped a slender, pale finger into the pooling blood. The red was a stark contrast to the man's impossibly pale complexion. It seemed dark enough to stain the skin forever. "What will May think when she catches your picture on the evening news, Johnny?"

"We have ta help him," Johnny insisted.

"Medicine won't say his life." The man shrugged, as he brought the painted finger to his mouth, where he sucked on it, lightly. "Do you know what this tastes like? It tastes like failure. You've never done anything right. You didn't make the college team like your mother wanted. You weren't the best husband for May. One month you've been a father and already you're going to go to prison; your son will never know you except through a glass window and a telephone line. Are you happy with that?"

Johnny blanched and took a step back. "Who the hell are you?"

"My name is inconsequential, Johnny. You're the one that matters. So many poor decisions you've made. Wouldn't you like to make one good one, just once?" The man grinned. He had sharp, pointy teeth, as he pushed himself away from the floor. His black pants should've been sullied, but weren't. They were like distant space, untouchable, and depthless and unlike any fabric Johnny had ever seen.

He approached Johnny and slid two arms up his chest, linked them around his neck. Nothing about the suited man was superficially unpleasant; his looks were fair, his breath like peppermint, and his voice a soothing baritone. Nonetheless, there was something very wrong about him: the twist of his smile, the beady eyes that peered deeper than Johnny wanted anyone to see, his cavalier attitude, despite the boy lying dead on the floor. "Get away from me," Johnny commanded.

"I could do that," the man whispered, as he fingered Johnny's hair. "I could step away right this minute and leave you to your fate. But I'll tell you what. For a price, a small, meager fee, I can fix _everything_. The boy, the money, and every worry you've ever had. Just snap, that's all I have to do, Johnny. You can have your life just the way you wanted it. Doesn't that sound… nice?" He adjusted Johnny's collar and patted him gently on the head.

"Who the hell are you?" Johnny repeated.

"Anyone who want me to be. For a price, of course."

"A price," Johnny scoffed.

"Don't be a baby about it, everything costs something. And for what I'm offering you –not only your life, but this boy's, too- my charge is tiny. You're trading pennies for gold." The suited man ran a hand along the base of Johnny's neck, and shut his eyes at the contact. "Johnny, don't say no. Please?"

Later, he would read about Posttraumatic Stress Disorder and blame everything past the shot on that. He couldn't have been in his right mind; there was no explanation for his behavior, none whatsoever. There was no reason for him to swallow hard, like he did, and ask, "How can ya do that?"

"It's not for you to question," came the easy reply. "Just say yes."

"What's the price?"

"Your soul."

Johnny blinked. And maybe he got a bad feeling about the man, but his presence was starting to become intoxicating. Like a drink that tastes foul at first, but gets easier to swallow each time. And maybe he didn't quite believe that someone was actually asking for his soul. That just didn't happen in real life. "You're kiddin'."

"No. Not kidding, though I do accept trades." The man in black released him and stepped away. He yawned suddenly. "You have a son."

The baby. Johnny nodded. "Yes."

"I'll take him, if you'd rather it be someone else."

"You think Ah'm going to sell you my son's soul?"

"How is baby Black going to survive with his daddy in jail?" The man wondered. "I don't collect until the eve of his eighteenth birthday. That's eighteen years of no worries at all for your family. Wouldn't you like that, Johnny?"

"Ah can't do that," he said.

"Don't forget this other boy you've cut down. He'd like a second chance, too."

At least his son would have food and a father. The cashier would live. Johnny shut his eyes. He was talking to a psycho about selling his son's soul and- "Do it." After he said it, his mouth clamped shut, in some belated effort to catch the mistake. But the words were said, and the man in black smiled, charmingly.

"John Phillips Black: welcome to the rest of your life."

Johnny blinked, and went he opened his eyes again, he was standing on one side of a soda isle, watching the blue-haired, breathing cashier drum his hands on the counter. But the weight in his pocket was replaced with something else. When he dug his fingers in, they met with hard plastic. He frowned and pulled out a shiny gold credit card. Johnny passed a hand over his mouth and didn't know what to think. The words 'Thank God' came to mind, but he had a desperate, sinking feeling that God had nothing to do with it. His hands trembled as he shoved the card back in his pocket and fled the store.

* * *

"Ya did what?" May cried out, when Johnny explained the choice to her in their small home, the smell of bacon wafting in the air. Her eyes went wide and her pretty pink mouth slacked open. 

He shook his head. "No, it's goin' to be okay, May."

"Someone asked if ya wanted to sell our son's soul an' you said _yes_?"

"Ah didn't think it would happen. He looked like-" Johnny let go of his sentence, because it didn't say what he needed her to hear. He had to explain until she saw it like he did. "Look, May, eighteen years old is a long time away. We can talk to people until then. Priests. Theologists. And in the meantime, Ah checked out this credit card. It's good, May. It's good for a lot of money. We can buy a house, a better car, a vacation in Europe…"

May Black rubbed her hands across her face and groaned. "Our son," she said. "My baby is in danger because o' you. How could ya do it?"

"May…"

She moved past him, and took the opportunity to shove him violently aside as she made her way towards the crib, where the sleeping child lay. She bent over and moved the swaddled blanket aside to get a better view of her child and… screamed. A terrible, frightening, screech that reached inside of his heart and twisted. "When he's eighteen?" May cried, both hands curling in her hair.

Johnny frowned. He too bent over the crib and looked at his child. A great pressure settled in his chest and the bile rose up his throat as he stared down at his baby boy, whose eyes had once been an attractive light brown.

The devil had lied. He'd claimed the baby early, ownership made plain by the change in appearance –for the child now had red and black eyes, the colors of Hell.

* * *

The next day, a nun stepped outside a cathedral in New Orleans, into the warm spring air and heard a baby's cry. She looked around and found him swaddled like Moses in a basket, adrift in a sea of concrete. His eyes were startling, to say the least, but it was not for her to turn away any child of God. 

He was christened after St. Remaclus.

* * *

And thus ends chapter one. I wasn't sure at first how much I liked this story, but it wanted to be told and whenever that happens, I just go with the flow. You know? Okay, I'll stop with the rhymes. Seriously speaking, this story got its inspiration from a Steven King short featured in his Everything's Eventual. Well, that and Rapunzel. If you'd like, review. Otherwise I'm going to let the bad man have Remy. 

Questions? Comments? Coconuts? I'm Eileenblzr at Yahoo.


	2. Chapter 2

Hi! Sorry, yet again, for the long delay between updates. It wasn't my fault this time, really. See, this crazy man who said his name was George Lucas strapped me to a chair and made me watch his movie until I was so utterly consumed by thoughts of it that I could do nothing else but obsess over the journey of his characters. Well, it didn't happen _exactly_ that way, but I _was_ caught up in the whole Star Wars thing. But you knew this about me before we ever got involved! You knew I was a crazy sci-fi geek!

A note_: I loved how mostly everyone thought of Sinister in relation to the Man In Black (not to be confused with the MIB, who are very cool indeed but not a major part of this story). Want to know why? Because I too thought of Sinister! I envisioned the Man, at first, as more of an actual representation of the devil, but considered changing it to Sinister to more soundly ground this story in the X-verse_. _In the end I settled on… well, guess correctly and get a cookie._

Read on!

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**Chapter One: The Beginning**

* * *

"_Chere_." 

"Shut up."

"_Petite_!"

"Leave me alone!"

"It wasn't m' fault!"

"It was _so _your fault!"

"I can't help it if we run into an ex every now an' then."

"Everyone and their grandma is your ex, Remy."

"Dat only happened once."

"Agh! I hate you."

Remy LeBeau glared at the door in front of him. He liked the opposite sex. He loved the opposite sex. But sometimes, he wanted to strangle it with its own silk scarf. He narrowed his eyes on the door and briefly indulged violent thoughts. When the knob started to glow a faint pink, however, Remy yanked his gaze away and sulked down the hall.

Two and a half months he'd been dating Katherine Pryde, and they were still having the same fight; she hated that they ran into girls from his part; she wanted him to have been a charming saint during his time as a professional thief and then, as an Acolyte. She wanted impossible things. He mumbled to himself as he made his way down the long X-mansion, the words 'weird', 'naïve', 'fickle', and 'crazy as the sun is bright' repeating.

He'd been an official member of the X-Men team for the better part of a year. Eight months of Scott's orders, Jean's sighs, Kitty's insane outbursts, Kurt's teases, and Rogue's…

His thoughts calmed a bit as he remembered he'd seen Rogue sitting up in one of the recreation rooms. He changed his course and continued on…

Eight month's he'd been an X-Men. He didn't know what he had expected to find among the teenaged do-gooders. Maybe he hadn't wanted anything but a place to call home after too many years of drifting. There was something warm and satisfying about returning back to the same house every night. Something sweetly appealing about large dinners with bread rolls and open laughs and jam jars passing between slippery hands. Remy had never had that before, unless he counted his many years with the nuns –and Remy and his sore hands were not willing to go that far. The LeBeau's were never even in the same city, let alone the same room. When the X-Men extended their offer, there wasn't any way for him to refuse it.

What he hadn't counted on was going soft.

The X-Men played by the rules, and the rules said stealing was a crime. He still ran through countless danger room scenarios, but they weren't enough. He needed to know that it was real, to feel the thrill of the hunt deep down in his chest like a fluttering of wings. That was a part of his identity: Gambit, master thief. Without that, he'd be lost. He wondered if, unconsciously, he'd been taking Kitty to places where he knew he'd run into one of his girls. Just for the sake of fighting, just for the challenge of stealing her back from her own doubts. Had he grown so desperate?

He saw the corner light lit in the recreation room and smiled, faintly. Of course, _she _would be awake. _She_ always seemed to be exactly where he needed her. Remy shook his head.

Then, he remembered it was his turn to bring the popcorn. He spun around and headed for the kitchen.

* * *

"What happened?" Rogue Darkholme asked when Remy dropped beside her with a bucket of popcorn and a carbonated beverage. She was slumped on a couch, a plush pillow in her lap, eyes trained on the television screen and the latest action hero to grace it. Her legs, clad in black flannel pants, were crossed and supported by the cherry wood coffee table centering the room. 

Remy tossed a handful of popcorn in his mouth and sighed. "She's mad."

"Again?" Rogue laughed and reached for a handful herself. "Ah thought you had some magic touch with girls, Remy LeBeau."

"So did I," he mumbled. "But dat girl is never satisfied."

"She's too easily satisfied," Rogue corrected. "It makes ya lazy."

"Shut up."

"Jerk," Rogue said, and tossed a kernel at his face, never looking away from her movie. "Wait. Hush for a second, this is the best part. He's going ta jump from that helicopter ta that train, an' then ta that big open field where he can engage the bad guy in hand-t'-hand combat. It's a great cinematic sequence, deserves an Oscar."

"An' he so happens t' lose his shirt along the way?"

She smirked. "Ah didn't notice."

"I can't believe I'm havin' a relationship crisis an' yo' ooglin' guys on TV."

"Ah can't believe ya used the phrase 'relationship crisis'. What a girl. Do Ah look like Dr. Phil? Just… remind her it's your birthday week an' that should guarantee you some measure o' lenience. She loves parties. Ah'm surprised she hasn't already passed out the invitations. It's not everyday her boyfriend turns eighteen." Remy shifted on the couch and Rogue finally turned to examine him with curious green eyes. "Ya haven't told her yet."

"I thought about it. But I don't want a big deal. I don't need presents, o' balloons, o' people cheerin' me on as I get another day older an' a little softer at da core."

Rogue poked at him, playfully. "Ya told me."

"But yo' different." And that was apparently all he had to say about it, because he stuffed his face with too much popcorn and looked at the screen with a forced interest that warded off all further comments on the subject.

"Fine," Rogue sighed. She dropped her chin to the pillow and continued with the movie.

* * *

_Remy was running from someone. At first, he thought his pursuers were the police, and that thought made him giddy. His feet moved faster in response, while his eyes scanned the foggy backdrop for any place to hide. But all the walls were solid, not a window or small corner in sight. Never mind. Remy chewed on the corner of his lip and indulged himself with a sharp grin. He could outrun them. He was bursting with energy and adrenaline; this was the sensation he'd been missing._

_But then, he passed them, and nearly tripped over their bodies. He had to jump to avoid the boys in blue, who lay scattered and far from consciousness. The giddy feeling left him and, a newfound sense of dread crept in to fill the empty space. If the police weren't after him, who was?_

_He dared a peek over his shoulder and saw only a deed lying on the floor. He fell out of his run and went to pick up the deed. The scribbling was small, red, and he didn't bother reading it because it seemed insignificant to property being signed away: himself. The signature at the bottom was unfamiliar to him, but he memorized it anyway. John Black, it read. Whoever that was._

"_Remy?" He turned, and saw-_

* * *

"Hey, wake up." The voice was a hand, reaching into the deeper part of her dreams, dragging her back to awareness by the collar. "Come on, it's me. Wake up." Rogue swallowed a complaint and peeked an eye open to obverse the situation. As expected, the voice wasn't directed at her, but at Remy. They'd fallen asleep on the couch again. He was curled up at the other end, his head resting against the pillow. Kitty Pryde was bent over him, threading her hand through his auburn hair. Guilt was evident across her face. 

"You guys got ta stop this," Rogue whispered to her brunette friend. Kitty looked over and sighed.

"Sorry I woke you up. I was just trying to apologize to Remy. I think I was a little harsh on him last night." Kitty scrunched up her nose. "It's just… we were having dinner at this totally random restaurant, and here comes this waitress with legs longer than I am tall, tons of really good hair, and like, this huge smile. Turns out, they enjoyed this weekend together last year and she just wants to check in on him. Am I totally crazy to want a night out that isn't interrupted by a girl who's gotten lucky with _my _boyfriend? It's so annoying."

"Kitty, he's with you, right?" Rogue wiped the sleep from her eyes and sat up. A yawn stretched her mouth wide. "So who cares what happened before? Ya can't let that stuff bother you. Consider this, okay? Before Ah was an X-Man, Ah was a member o' Mystique's Brotherhood. Ah knew back then we did bad stuff. Ya don't hold that against me; ya shouldn't hold Remy's dating record against him. Just be happy with what ya got. He's a good guy."

A good guy who was feigning sleep, her instincts told her, but she carefully held that bit of information from Kitty, as the younger girl looked at the Cajun with thoughtful eyes. Rogue looked too, and had to admit that he _was_ pretty. If she wasn't so sure that they were better as friends than they could ever be at romance, she might've been jealous. After a moment, Kitty seemed to acquiesce. She ran her fingers across the side of his face. "I'm going to go grab some breakfast. If he wakes up soon, send after me, okay?"

"Yeah," Rogue said. "Sure." She waited until the brunette was gone before kicking the Cajun hard in his side.

"Ow," he complained, opening his eyes. There wasn't a trace of sleep in them. She wondered if he'd been awake before Kitty had even come around, and why he hadn't gotten up himself. "Y' didn't have t' hit me so hard, _Chere_." He pouted.

"Boohoo. Cry me a river."

"Why? Lookin' for a new home, river rat?"

She glared. "Ah hate you."

"Liar, liar, pants on fire."

"An' Ah still ain't gonna drop 'em for you."

He rolled his eyes and moved his legs off the end of the couch. He was still wearing the previous night's outfit: a pair of black jeans, and a long sleeve dress shirt that moved along his chest as he stretched his arms over the top of his head. "I better go off an' be cordial about acceptin' my apology, _non_?" A satisfied smirk curled his lips.

"If ya aren't, next time Ah'll suggest that she dump you. She could find a better match, Mr. Shady Past."

"Love ya too, Roguey."

"Gag me."

"Didn't know you were into dat kinky masochistic stuff."

"Ah'm _this_ close…" She warned.

Remy leaned forward and patted her arm comfortingly. "I know I turn y' onan awful lot, Chere, but I got a girlfriend an' dat talk really isn't appropriate. Sorry."

She narrowed her eyes. "You are an idiot."

"But a charmin' one, _oui_?" He stood up and waved goodbye.

She scoffed at his retreating figure. "Whatever."

After he left, Rogue lay stretched out on the couch, her hands folded over her stomach. Without Kitty or Remy or at least the television on, the room felt empty. Taming the voices in her head had been empowering, certainly, but now she was often uncomfortable on her own. Silence was lonely. She wrinkled her nose and rolled over, landing neatly on the floor. There had to be a practice session going on somewhere; there was no way Scott was surviving the morning on just oatmeal and Jean's conversational skills. She stood up, brushed the wrinkles from her pants, and-

A knock sounded through the room. Rogue frowned. Carefully, she tiptoed towards of the windows and stuck her nose between the blinds to get a better view of the visitor. There was no way she was opening it without warning; last time, she'd been stuck outside for twenty minutes while a ruddy salesman tried to persuade her she needed anti-wrinkle cream. But she saw no cream. A slender young man dressed all in black had his hands linked behind his back, his head bowed slightly as he waited patiently for someone to open the door. There was something about him…

Rogue pulled back and moved to the door. Almost unconsciously, she straightened her shoulders and shook her matted hair back to life before answering. "Hello?"

"Hello, Miss," the very pale man said with a small smile. "I'm looking for Remy LeBeau. I understand he lives here now. I'm an old friend." His face was perfect and smooth, accented by a pair of wide, startlingly blue eyes. Beautiful, really. He extended a hand to Rogue, and for a moment, she just stared at it. Then he laughed, an amused, playful sound that woke her from her sudden trance.

"Ah'm Rogue. Uh, Remy's in the other room, Ah can go-"

"Rogue," he repeated softly, interrupting her offer. "What a fascinating name." His eyes took a long survey of her and slowly wandered their way back up to her face. He grinned again and stretched out a pale arm for shaking once more. "Well, it's an absolute _pleasure_ to meet you, Rogue. I suddenly understand completely why Remy decided to make this place his permanent residence. I'm Luc."

"Luc," Rogue said. This time, she accepted his handshake, but instead, he brought her hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on her hand. "Won't ya come inside?" She breathed.

"I'd love that," Luc said. His hand fell to the small of her back as they moved inside, as if he meant to claim her. If this small act startled Rogue, so unaccustomed to intimacy as she was, she didn't mention it to the guest.

* * *

Kurt had spent the night at a friend's house. He stepped up to the mansion, his longtime home, with a duffle bag on one shoulder and a long coat that the weather didn't permit him to wear tossed over the other. He squinted in the sunlight as he made his way up the steps. When he reached the door, he paused, as a _feeling_ took him. He couldn't quite place it, but it made his pulse jump; either Angelina Jolie was waiting for him on the other side, or there was something seriously wrong happening. But what? 

With a frown, he slid his key into the door and walked inside. His duffle bag fell to the side as he called out for one or any of his housemates. No answer came, which was strange enough in a house of so many, but more than that, he spotted _him_. Leaning in the hallway, there was an unfamiliar man talking warmly to Rogue. She was smiling more than he'd ever seen her smile in recent times, or ever. That should've been enough for anyone to gain his good opinion; it certainly had helped Remy when the Cajun was first entering their lives on a permanent basis. But immediately, Kurt knew that the man in question was the reason for the bad feeling.

At the moment Kurt realized this, the man turned and grinned widely in his direction. As if he'd heard, Kurt thought, a wave of fear passing over him. His eyes settled on the unusual whiteness of the man's teeth to avoid the dark sparkle in his eyes. Something very bad was happening, he thought again, and he wasn't sure how to stop it.

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

This, like the chapter before it, serves the purpose of setting the scene before the actual plot can take hold; I hope that's okay. To start off this fic, I wanted to put Rogue and Remy, my two frequent stars, into a situation where none of my previous fics had seen them: in a platonic friendship. Whether it stays that way is entirely dependent on whether or not people review! I'd like to note that I cannot claim credit for the creation of Luc, nor would I want to. Any questions, comments, or coconuts should be sent to Eileenblzr at Yahoo. Come talk. It's summer and I am bored to pieces. 

**On A Personal Note**:

**Lady MR1**, **Lelann,**** Asheni, Texasgrrl**, **Kyo-Kitty, Kristen**: Thank you for your kind words, your encouragement, and your coconuts… at this point, I would just like to say, ahem, free pina coladas for everyone!

**Betrayed Daughters**: Where are you! I don't see you anymore.

**Wildcardrose**: Remy does indeed have a soul, but it's whether or not he'll have one at the end of this story that really matters. Thanks for the review; I'm glad you liked it so far.

**TheSinisterBra**: Your name always cracks me up. Thanks!

**Ishandaquarter**: I know, I know, I haven't reviewed your chapter. Gah! See, I was going to use it to garner enough interest in X-men to update something and then I just avoided for a while, so. Will review it before the night is through! Anywho, glad you liked the set up and introduction to Remy's parents. See ya soon, on the other side of this reviewer/writer thingy…

**Elle457**: I, Eileen Blazer, so solemnly swear there will be no Joe here. Thanks for reviewing! It means a lot.

**Kitsu**: Thanks much! Hope this part was good, too.

**Keirin-Sama**: Is your name pronounced like Karen? Just curious. Thanks for the review!

**Silverbells**: I absolutely accept your offer for cookies in exchange for not letting the bad man have Remy. One problem: those cookies will only last for this chapter. See? No soul-surrendering yet. But next chapter, it's all up for grabs. Thanks!

**Tinuvieltelcontar**: I looked up the name of the Saint online to verify that indeed, he did exist. Thanks for the interest. I prefer Remy LeBeau, too.

**Rogue4787**: What if that 'romance' title applies to him and Kit-Kat:ducks away from the mad reviewer: Hey, long time no see! Glad to have you review again.

**Heartsyhaw**k: Thank you much! Review way soonish!

**Shira's Song**: the question of why Gambit should have to honor the deal made by his father is a very important one for this fic, thus I cannot give you a satisfying answer at this time. Suffice it to say, I think you make some very good points. Also, you were the first to think that the folks were trying to save him by giving him to the nuns. Aww.

**Nettlez**: It would be strange if Xavier were the one who stole his soul. I like that possibility. Really, it intrigues me, and I almost wish I could twist everything around just to make it happen that way. Thanks for the review!

**Speck**: Other stories? I have other stories? Oh… yeah. I will update. I swear it. The Lucas-fog is beginning to lift. I can almost get through an hour without thinking of Pretty Obi. :is thinking of Obi even as she types: There really is a St. Remaclus. Thanks!

**Howlerdrode**: Hi there! It does stink when one's parents sell one's soul to the devil. Kind of makes me feel better about my own familia, you know? Thanks for reviewing!

**Neurotic Temptress**: I am insanely pleased with anything you write, be it a review or an update…speaking of updates, when's yours?… Darn real life! But I know how that can be; I'm between schools at the moment and it is such sweet relief to have nothing to do! Thank you so much for your review!


	3. Chapter 3

I love you guys. I do. The reaction to the Remy's dating of Kitty startled me –I didn't expect you to care more about that than the state of his soul- but in retrospect, I probably would've felt the same. I agree, whole-heartedly, that Kimy –a name that ever reminds me of DJ Tanner's best friend- is a bizarre pairing. They're not exactly from the same world. I hope you understand that they've had problems; the introduction to their relationship was an argument, after all, and not the fun Romy kind.

Once more, and for the record, I did not create the source of all evil. If he were really an OC, I'm sure the world would be a much, much better place. I did, however, make him a central character in this story. And you can't stop me! Bwahaha.

* * *

**Chapter Two: The Trouble With Maybe**

* * *

Remy found the man –the 'old acquaintance'- standing in the middle of the garden, sleeves rolled up and hands buried in his black pants. He didn't turn when Remy stepped outside, just kept his gaze steady on a set of Ororo's tulips. "The flowers never turn out like this where I'm from," the man said, in a clear baritone. "I'm glad of it. These are nice to look at, but they're so… stiff. Rigid. Confined to this little plot of land, in this neat square shape. If I were a flower here, do you know what my greatest wish would be? Freedom." 

Remy approached the man and felt suddenly hesitant. It was a peculiar, untraceable reluctance, which he promptly swallowed. "I hear y' tellin' people we're old friends, but I don't believe we've ever met. Care t' explain?"

The man shrugged. "I spent a lot of time in New Orleans. I have close ties to the Guilds. I remember you as a child, getting into so much trouble. You had the most beautiful eyes." Finally, the man looked in his direction and grinned. "I hear you've grown into quite the thief. Your father loves to brag, Remy."

The young Cajun thought of his father. A good man, once, until his pride had grown like a cancer, spreading and demanding that every rival be crushed, every weapon be utilized to achieve that goal, even if it meant the alienation of his son. "My father," Remy said. "His words don't make us friends."

"Don't be difficult. I come in peace. Well," a chuckle, "that's all relative, I suppose. I'm not here to make you angry with me. If you prefer I don't mention LeBeau, then I won't. We can start new, right now. I'd very much like to be your friend, Remy."

"Why?" A suspicious nature was hard to reign in.

"Just because."

"That's all?"

"All I have." The other man confessed.

Remy wasn't convinced of the man completely, but he was enough so to drop his guard… just an inch. He scratched his chin and looked at the tulips. "What about da freedom ta choose structure?"

"They don't want that. It's against their nature. That's why it takes so much work to keep them in this aesthetic form; you're constantly fighting destiny." The man bent forward and snatched one of the tulip heads, breaking it cleanly from the stem. Remy winced internally as he imagined Ororo's reaction, but said nothing. The man ran the dewy petals over his lips. "There's a reason I came to see you, Remy."

"What kind o' reason?"

"Well," the man laughed. "The secret kind since you ask. I can't tell you yet… but soon, I promise. This is an _adult _secret." Remy blinked. No one called him too young. The idea was absurd. He'd had his first drink when he was ten. He'd done his first major successful heist two years later. He'd tried sex at thirteen, cigars two months after, witnessed his first assassination while he blew out the candles of his fourteenth birthday party, and gotten high to recover from the initial shock of that. There wasn't anything that he hadn't been doing or seeing or feeling for years. People like him didn't have childhoods. But the man patted his shoulder. "Don't take offense. It's just a quirk of mine."

"A quirk." Remy rolled his eyes.

"Exactly. Your birthday is only a few days away, isn't it? That's not a long wait. In the meantime," the man reached into his pocket and retrieved a small, round disk. "Are you interested in helping me do a job? Good help is hard to find and since I'm in the company of the best, I can't resist asking."

"Yo' name is Luc," Remy said.

"It is."

"I'm retired, Luc."

"I understand. I do." Luc sighed, a deep sigh that made his shoulders sink a moment before rising again. "But this would only be one little job, just to keep your feet wet. And the X-Men, if they're the reason for your pulling out of the business, well, they don't have to know. I won't tell. Think of the fun we'd have." He dropped the disk in Remy's hands, along with a calling card. "Think about it. We'll talk again."

"Maybe," Remy whispered, mostly to himself. He held the disk level with his eyes and sighed.

* * *

Tried hard as they might to be regular, normal siblings, Rogue and Kurt could never quite make it. They did the brother-sister bit well enough; they took to each other like two people desperate to have family near. As for the normal part… that's where they faltered. Whether it was a basic impossibility, for how could relations between a vampire and a blue elf be anything other than strange, or just a lack of practice on their part, they always wound up navigating through a world of weird. It surprised neither, therefore, when an argument sprang up about Remy's visitor, Luc and the subject fell towards the supernatural. 

"He's creepy." Kurt insisted.

"He's not!" Rogue said.

"Have you seen him?"

"Kurt," Rogue chided, "You should be above this kind o' talk. How many times have you had ta deal with words just like the ones you're saying? People callin' you a devil just 'cause ya got pointy ears and a tail. Are you even listenin' ta yourself?"

Kurt flushed as visibly as his blue fur allowed. "It's not that. Did you look in his eyes, Rogue? They're-"

"If ya say they're demon eyes, Ah'm gonna smack ya, brother o' no."

"Look," Kurt sighed, "Vith me and Gambit, it's different. Our looks are obvious. There isn't anything obvious about that man. But there is something wrong vith him. Like he's vearing a skin that doesn't fit."

A sly grin spread across Rogue's face. "It looks like it fits just right," she exclaimed, nudging her brother so that he could the visitor approaching. Luc gave the siblings a friendly wave, like he'd known them for years. When he was closer, he stretched out a pale hand to Kurt. The mutant teen looked at it warily.

"Oh, come on, don't tell me you're not into handshakes. I had you pegged as the nicest one of the whole bunch. I promise I won't bite your hand off." He laughed openly as he said this, and then grabbed Kurt's hand like he'd been invited. Instead of leaving it as a shake, though, he reached around his other arm and pulled him into a big hug. His head by Kurt's ear, he whispered low, "_But your friends I'm gonna eat whole_." There was laughter as Luc twisted away, but it did not register in Kurt's ear. All he felt a suppressive darkness that stung his eyes like tears.

* * *

"You're friend doesn't like me," Luc sighed, as Rogue followed him back to the door he entered from. "I may have spooked him a little. I tease." He licked his lips. "It's kind of a habit I've developed to deal with other people's insecurities," he explained. 

"Oh?"

"People always think I'm strange," Luc confessed. "I don't mean to frighten them… I don't know why it happens. I just… I give that impression, I guess.

Like I'm dangerous to be around."

"That sounds real familiar," Rogue sort of grinned.

"Really." Luc reached up like he was going to touch her. He didn't. "I sincerely hope we talk again, Rogue."

"Yeah," she sighed. "Me too." She watched his back until he turned the corner of the gate, and then retreated inside the mansion walls. Remy was waiting for her, arms crossed and eyebrow raised. "What?" She demanded.

"I didn't say nothin'."

"But ya thought it."

"A man can't be tried f' thinkin'."

"Ah was bein' _polite_." Rogue said.

"Awfully polite." He smirked.

"Ya don't know what you're talkin' about."

"You don't know who yo' talkin' to."

Rogue stuck out her tongue. "Yeah, yeah. Maybe ya haven't noticed, but we're late for a trainin' session in the DR, Remy LeBeau. Ah don't have time for this discussion." He fell into place beside her and together, they walked towards the Danger Room. Jokes passed between them, and for a moment, everything else was forgotten.

* * *

Later, Remy discovered he'd been offered the chance for a beautiful job.

He stared at the blue prints like they were naked photographs of Miss America contestants, practically leering at the fine sketches; desire tingled like a poison in his blood. Spread out across his computer screen, they were dirtier than any nude pictures could've been, because of what they represented. When Remy LeBeau joined the X-Men, they'd taken him in like a long lost son, with a single rule –he had to give up his less than legal habits. He skills would be valued in their frequent save-the-world crusades, surely, and he was welcome to utilize them all he needed in such circumstances, but there was to be no more random jewel thefts, no pick-pocketing the clearly wealthy, no extravagant heists to tease the less than brilliant PD's. If he wanted to be an example of mutant-non-mutant cooperation, his dealings had to be honest. But what had that honesty gotten him, besides a lot of frustration?

Friendship, an annoying voice pointed out. Sincere affection.

Not everyone followed the rules, though. No one briefed the X-Men on what Wolverine did on his days off, when he tore out on his bike and came home smelling like alcohol, blood, and aggression. Wolverine was hardly a poster boy for good relations.

Of course Wolverine wasn't anywhere near underage, either, and Xavier had said the rules would be more lax once he'd proven himself an able adult. He glowered a bit. He shouldn't do it. He should shut off his computer screen, eject the disk, and drop it into the trashcan at his feet. If Luc stopped by again, he should explain that he was trying to stand for something, and he while he appreciated the man's offer, he had to turn it down. He _should_.

He would.

Except…

If he took it…

It'd just be one job. Just one, and that would be enough to sustain him the rest of the year; the memories would keep him going. No one would know and nothing would change except the itching in his heart. Who'd be hurt?

Just one time. When he looked at his hand, it was already wrapped around his cell. His teeth bore down on the soft flesh of his bottom lip as he imagined dialing the number, accepting the offer, and escaping through his window back into the world that raised him. How sick was it, he wondered, that the thought of a new job excited him more than his girlfriend ever had? And his father declared him undedicated.

No!

Maybe…

Maybe he could call Luc and inform him via phone that he wasn't interested. That way, he wouldn't have to deal with seeing the man in person again. He could end it swiftly. That was a good idea. He could do it. Yes. He'd go with that solution. But even as his fingers tapped out the number, even while he prepared the words that would disappoint Luc, Remy knew he wasn't going to use them. He was an opportunist; that part of him couldn't be denied. It was why he'd been taken into the Guild, it was why he'd signed with Magneto, it was even why he currently wore an 'X' in the corner of his uniform. He was an opportunist and a thief, and this was a perfect opportunity and a perfect job.

Luc answered on the third ring. "I knew you'd accept," he laughed, not wasting their time on pleasantries like hello and how are you. "You can't escape what you are."

Remy dropped his face into the hand that wasn't carrying the phone. The other man's words bit into him, but how could he hold that against him? How could he blame anyone else for _his_ faults? His weakness. He let silence dance across the line for a moment before squaring his shoulders and asking, "When?"

"Like the file says. Tonight."

_Just one more time._

* * *

_Remy was running from someone. At first, he thought his pursuers were the police, and that thought made him giddy. His feet moved faster in response, while his eyes scanned the foggy backdrop for any place to hide. But all the walls were solid, not a window or small corner in sight. Never mind. Remy chewed on the corner of his lip and indulged himself with a sharp grin. He could outrun them. He was bursting with energy and adrenaline; this was the sensation he'd been missing._

_But then, he passed them, and nearly tripped over their bodies. He had to jump to avoid the boys in blue, who lay scattered and far from consciousness. The giddy feeling left him, and a newfound sense of dread crept in to fill the empty space. If the police weren't after him, who was?_

_He dared a peek over his shoulder and saw only a deed lying on the floor. He fell out of his run and went to pick it up. The scribbling was small, red, and he didn't bother reading it because it seemed insignificant to property being signed away: himself. The signature at the bottom was unfamiliar to him, but he memorized it anyway. John Black, it read. Whoever that was._

"_Remy?" He turned, and saw Luc, all concern and worry. The older man walked up to him and tossed an arm over his shoulder. Luc gave him a brief, comforting squeeze. "You're not alone, you know. I'm here with you. I'll always be here. This," and he snatched the deed away, "isn't anything you should fear."_

"_I don't understand it," Remy said._

"_You do," Luc assured him. "Trust me."_

_Mirrors suddenly surrounded them. If he squinted, Remy could make out the shape of a-_

* * *

Remy sat up with a start and instinctively glanced at his watch. His mind was blurry. If he'd been having a dream, he couldn't remember it. What he did remember was that he was almost due to meet Luc. He stole away from the mansion in the black of night. 

In the morning, he felt a million times better. The world was new. When he washed his face in his bathroom mirror, he found the smug smile of satisfaction was back on his lips, and maybe there was a sparkle to his eyes, too. His muscles were a little sore, but he didn't mind; the slightly painful pull beneath his legs was like a badge of success. He'd been right in accepting the offer. He was born again, better than ever. He clapped Scott on the shoulder as they passed each other in the hall, winked at Jean when he noticed her swimming laps in the pool. He found Rogue in the kitchen, eating burnt toast and half a grapefruit, and couldn't resist tugging at the ends of her still-tangled hair. She slapped his hands.

"What is goin' on with you?"

He grinned. "I had da best night."

She studied him, her green eyes narrowed and uncertain. At length, though, she softened her gaze and returned the smile. "Ya look happy, Remy." She looked down to her breakfast and donned a strange smile. "Is this about you an' Kit-Kat finally settlin' things?"

"Well, no. But I'll get t' it, t'day." He seized her grapefruit and licked the top. The tangy flavor tightened his jaw, but even that was a pleasant sensation. Nothing could ruin this. "Some stuff I had lingerin' turned t' be all right is all. A weight has been lifted off m' shoulders."

"That was mine," Rogue stated, gesturing towards the fruit, when he licked at it again.

"Want it back?"

"Now that you're tongue has made it all gross? No."

He was about to make some comment, about how her obvious obsession with his tongue was getting way out of hand, when the kitchen doors were pulled open and Kitty stepped inside, escorting Jubilee through. It wasn't so much the presence of his girlfriend that brought him to silence, but the state of the younger mutant. Jubilee's face, usually bright and playful, was instead darkened with tears. He'd never seen her so distraught. "What's goin' on?"

"Last night, someone broke into the safety deposit box where she kept some of her parent's stuff," Kitty sighed. "It was kind of all she had of them since they died." The Lee family had taken Jubilee out of mansion and back home when news of the mutants broke out, but the Californian had returned after the murdering of her two parents. The killers had left behind a present for the girl, too: a fire that ravaged her home and left her with nothing but the few articles she'd forgotten at Xavier's. He didn't know she'd put the stuff in a safety deposit box upon her return.

"Oh my God," Rogue said. She turned to him, and he knew why. He had the gift of comfort. He had a way with people. A charm. He wanted, suddenly desperately, to be the man Rogue was looking for. For the briefest second, he thought maybe she'd miss the welling of guilt in his heart. After all, Remy LeBeau knew how to sell a lie. But not, apparently, to Rogue. He watched her step back, just a fraction of an inch. He caught the change came. "Oh no," she breathed, some mixture of sorrow and fury swirling in her tone.

He hadn't known. The name had read: J.L. Just J.L. That could've been anybody. It could've stood for James Little. Joel Laurie. Jane Lincoln. Joseph Long. Julie Lyon. The possibilities were near endless. How was he supposed to guess that J.L. was Jubilation Lee? The thought had never crossed him mind.

He really hadn't known.

But maybe he should've.

* * *

Well, it stinks to find out you've just unwittingly robbed a friend, don't it. I know it didn't take too much for Remy to take the job, but he was raised a thief, right? He gave up stealing because the X-Men wanted him to, not because of his conscience. What teenager doesn't try to break the rules? Besides me, I mean, but I was a loser. Stay tuned for more Luc (pretty much everyone's figured out what that's short for, though a cookie goes to Lady MR and Rogue14 for actually saying it), Rogue's reaction, Remy's handling of the situation, and other stuff I haven't thought of yet. No reviews mean I quit the story, and Remy stays with Kit-Kat forever. Send comments, questions, and coconuts to Eileenblzr at Yahoo.

* * *

**On A _Personal_ Note**: 

**Crash Slayer, Demon Flame, lelann, Rogue14, kyo-kitty: **In the words of the King of Rock Roll, Thank you, thank you very much. See, I read this paper that said saying 'thank you very much' doesn't sound as good as saying, 'wow! Thanks!' but I don't believe it. How could Elvis be wrong? Either way, you guys get both, but I really do adore you all.

**Lady MR**: You led me astray! You said Kitty/Remy was an awesome turn of events, and then I was attacked by my other reviews! Aah! You are indeed correct regarding the name, wise one. K/R have been dating for two and a half months. Thanks!

**Keirin-Sama**: I feel much smarter now that I can say your name. Not that I've said it. But if I wanted to, I could. Ha. Thanks much for reviewing!

**Rogue238**: I'm quite thankful you've seen past the pairing and liked the story anyway. And hey, if reviewers keep reviewing, anything could happen! Thanks!

**Silverbells**: Astute, aren't we. You've taken quite mature route in dealing with the pairing, and you make me happy. Yay. I shall update my other stuff soon. Hopefully. You are so understanding! clings to reviewer

**Banadapanda**: One of my favorite compliments is that I've managed something that feels original. Thank you v. much!

**Alara**: Hi! How are you? I'm really glad you like this so far! I tend to watch things for your opinion. _Psst._ Update.

**Rogue4787**: I saw the midnight show too! Of the prequels, it was a definite favorite. Hayden was a lot hotter in this one, except for that scene with the funky hair, though I tended to favor Obi-Wan. Yay! I inspired. Can't wait to see ya again!

**Nettlez**: Aww, shucks. Ya make me blush! Thanks a bunch.

**The Sinister Bra**: Um, let's kindly refrain from all painful bashing/cracking etc, please? I loved you suggestion of Remy/Kurt. I find the thought intensely amusing.

**Ishandafiftydollarbill**: I couldn't stop laughing when I read your review. I read it again, and it was still fun. I don't know what to say, except… I thought you'd have a little faith. But hey, if you want to play THAT game, Joe's still looking for love in WMB, and yes, Gambit is still partnered with Bella in SS. And if it comes to that, I have this one fic that actually starts off with something that could be interpreted as Scott/Remy. I won't give you advance warning and you'll stumble on it by accident! Ha ha! Er… please don't abandon me forever now…who will call me droll?

**Rogue Gal**: Hey, so long as you reviewed, now I'll still love you forever! Thanks so very much.

**Kitsu LeBeau**: I chose Kurt because of all the X-Men, he strikes me as being most in-touch with his religious self, and therefore would be the first to see Luc not as a guest, but as, you know, the devil in disguise. Sometimes, it's hard to be the only one who can see. Thanks for the review! Hope ta see you again!

**Cat2fan900**: Alas, I don't think Remy's padre had the squirrels option. Too bad. But, thanks so very much for reviewing!

**Jade**: Your review amused me. I assure you, I am a dedicated member of the Romy community! I have my card and everything! Rogue and Remy are in good hands. Well, sort of mediocre hands…but anywho, thanks!

**Heartsyhawk**: I'd like to thank you for bringing up the subject of Remy's parents and how they must be feeling, knowing that it's almost time for his soul to be collected. I didn't even think…that will be addressed. Thanks for the review, too! BTW, turns out your neighbor doesn't have a soul and thus, cannot be traded. Sad sad.

**Elle457**: I made up the name, but if you know of a cool fact or connection, I must know more! Tell me and there may be prizes involved! Thanks for the review!

**Roguechere**: I'm glad you liked the friendship angle! Everyone wants to know about Luc and Rogue… well, except for me, since I do know what happens. But I'll never tell! Thanks.

**IvyZoe**: You seem quite adamant that I must break up the Kimy. Which, unfortunately, makes me only want to drag out the relationship more. How about this: I promise you there will be trouble in Kimyland. Severe trouble. Thanks!

**Takimiromy**: Thank you, oh so very much! I'm glad you're on board with this friendship deal. Ha ha!

**Shira's Song**: You know what I loved about your review? Besides that it exists? You actually had reservations about sticking Rogue with Luc when you realized he was creepy. Thank you! Apparently, most people don't care! I care, thank you very much. Doesn't mean I won't do it, but still! And YES with the breathing moment! Dude…Super awesome!

**Lace123**: Hi! I wasn't expecting a reveiw from you! It's been a while, hasn't it? Wow. Great to see you. Thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

Brief comments here regarding my other stuff. WMB is on temporary hiatus while I revise it some. If anyone wants to work with me on that, just drop me a line. I'll back to updating, though, in a few weeks. Slowly, Silently updates will start within days, though, because it's a project I'd like to finish during summer.

Your comments, as always, make me feel all giddy and warm inside. Thanks! Keep 'em coming!

* * *

**Chapter Three:Of Flies and Honey**

* * *

She never would've thought that it was possible to know someone too well. But as she stared into Remy's face, seeing his guilt, Rogue was suddenly faced with that improbable truth. Her stomach twisted into knots. Before she could betray her discovery, Rogue muttered soothing but brief words to Jubilee, and then left the kitchen. She headed upstairs, passed her own room, and went straight for Remy's. 

There was several security precautions built in, not because he was so protective of his privacy, but because whenever he got bored, Remy installed a few new ones for fun. Most of them were insignificant –a handful of cameras, a few silent alarms, and a particularly sophomoric bucket of shaving cream that he'd installed specifically for the next time Bobby Drake tried to sneak inside- but there were also some that Rogue took care to disarm. The very loud alarm, for one, and also the trick laser that served the purpose of blinding an intruder.

Once inside, and done with the security measures, Rogue glanced around his room. She'd been in there a number of times before, but never paid particular attention. He had a black comforter, a wall of movie posters, a bookshelf, an uncluttered desk, and a sword collection that had once belonged to his now deceased fiancé. She wondered where he would keep something that he stole.

"Closet." Remy's voice was tired, as he walked past her and pulled open the closet door. He shoved a number of his clothes and hangers out of the way, and opened up a very large metallic box. Inside, she saw, sat a collection of screens, a random buttons, a keyboard, and a drawer. He tugged at the drawer until it gave. Resting in it was a pair of gold cuffs, a pearl necklace, and a thin silk scarf. Remy scooped them into his hand and presented them to her.

She was hit by a wave of fury. He'd stolen. He'd caved. He'd followed his feelings and instincts and history and _stolen_ from someone. And maybe her anger wasn't fair, because she would've been much more understanding of Kurt or Kitty or Scott or anyone else; but it wasn't anyone else, it was Remy and…

They'd had that in common, back when there was nothing else between them. She was bound and chained by circumstance and fate, denied the chance to live life the way she might've liked, _and so was he_. But they'd forged a bond of friendship, and that had made things so much better, because finally, there was someone to talk to, someone who could understand what it meant to be without a basic need.

But he didn't understand anymore, because he'd broken the vow and stolen.

"I'll give 'em back," he whispered softly, but somehow, that didn't help.

* * *

Scott Summers ran a hand over his mouth and stared out the window. The trees in the distance leaned from side to side, a slow dance with the heavy wind. "I'm not sure what you want me to do about this," he said finally, in a tone that reminded him of… a grown-up, he thought, and nearly winced. Was this what his much-imagined life of leadership and pride really amounted to? Asking his teammates to hold out their hands while he retrieved his ruler? Nevertheless, it was his duty to act, to… reprimand. Remy LeBeau had once promised to give up his illegal activities, and now he'd gone and broken that promise, so. It fell to Scott's jurisdiction, awkward as that sounded. 

Remy LeBeau shrugged, in that annoying way. It made him look like he was clueless, when Scott knew for a fact that the Cajun was unusually bright. "Whatever y' find is best," Remy said, "I'm prepared t' face da consequences."

"Right." Scott nodded solemnly. He leaned back in the plush chair, ran his hand over his mouth again. "Well, clearly this was a huge breach of trust on your part. We need to be able to rely on you for a lot, and-" He continued on his speech, something he'd memorized years prior, when Xavier had leaned back and made a street urchin take the same pledge. He could remember what Remy's seat felt like. "You're being taken off of active duty for… a week, and you'll report to the kitchen tomorrow morning. Until you're back on duty, you'll handle all of the kitchen chores. If there's a spoon that needs washing, a hand towel that isn't clean, a smudge on the tile, that's all your business. We'll meet again when time's up and reevaluate your dedication to this team."

The Cajun agreed easily. Not a complaint, or a smug grin in sight. Scott sighed and stood. That had gone suspiciously smooth, but Jubilee had already bought his claim of ignorance, and Jean was waiting, and he wasn't about to accuse Remy LeBeau of being _too _cooperative.

* * *

"Hi, Rogue." Remy said into his phone, while he picked at a cookie. "I just wanted t' say I'm sorry an' I talked t' Scott an' Jubes and we're workin' it out. It'd be more n' I deserve for you t' call back soon as y' get dis, but I'll ask anyway just t' give you da satisfaction o' turnin' me down." 

He hung up the cell and dialed a different number. While it rang, he surveyed the restaurant. It was a small place with an average name –John's- but the cookie was good and he wasn't really there for the food, anyway. His coffee, at least, was kept constantly hot. He returned the waitress' smile before pressing the phone to his ear again.

"Hey, kitty-kitty, I wanted t' call an' check in. Guess y' not near y' phone, or y' avoidin' me 'cause y' found out about my mistake. I'd like a chance t' explain, or at least present y' wit' da tickets I bought us t' dat concert. Here's hopin'." He hung up again and settled the phone on the table.

Moments later, it was lifted up by slender white fingers. Luc turned it over in his hands a few times, before finally looking up at Remy with a half-grin. His blue eyes twinkled pleasantly. "I bet the job was just beautiful. I bet you could've done it in your sleep. You impress me immeasurably, Remy." His smile slipped into a frown. "It wasn't beautiful?"

"J.L." Remy said slowly. "Who is dat?"

Luc raised an eyebrow. "Jubilation Lee. She's the only daughter of the Lee family. The father's a high-powered doctor, who made a few enemies when he testified in court against an ex-colleague. They put a lot of stuff into boxes during the trial, mostly to secure their own protection. I haven't checked up on them in a few months, though, so I couldn't tell you where they're living. I promise, Remy, they don't miss the contents of that box. These people define the word luxury."

Remy ran his tongue across his lips. "They're dead. Jubilation Lee is a friend o' mine, a member o' da X-Men. Dat stuff is all she has o' them these days. I gave it all back, and so help me, if anyone else tries t' re-steal it, I'm gonna track 'em down an' make 'em sorry."

"Woah!" Luc lifted his hands into the air. "I had no idea. Detailed research is done months in advance. I never would've sent you after it if I'd been aware. You have to believe me, Remy." He didn't _have _to do anything, Remy wanted to say, but even as he formed the thought, he felt it increasingly difficult to point the finger at his newest acquaintance. Luc _looked_ earnest. "Look," the man continued, "Let me explain that it was all my fault. I'll accept full blame for everything that happened."

"I'm handlin' it myself," Remy assured him. He told him about the week of punishment.

"Are you grounded?" Luc wondered.

"No." Remy confessed.

Luc leaned forward. "I feel so awful about this mishap, Remy. You have to let me make it up to you. There's this great band playing at a club tomorrow night. Bring a date, and everything will be on me. Whatever you want, whatever you need, you won't even have to _ask_." He looked hopeful.

Remy sighed. And accepted.

* * *

He dipped into the clear water, made the sign of the cross, and tossed one last smile at the altar of Her Lady of Grace. It was dark enough that the sun didn't burst through the stained-glass windows and flood the floor with color. The sight of the Church was always a comfort, because it never changed. In Germany, in America, or any other nation he visited, it was always some variation on the same theme. 

He allowed himself a smile before exiting the building. Outside was... well, it was a different world. Lady of Grace wasn't the closest church to his home, so he never spent much time in the neighborhood. The buildings, ranging in color and height, were only vaguely familiar. The faces were completely unknown, because the streets were always empty. Kurt Wagner tucked his hands into his pockets and buried his chin in the plaid scarf slung around his neck. Like this, he began the quiet journey home.

He'd taken all of six steps when a voice beckoned to him from the shadows.

"I've been waiting for you, Kurtie."

The blue elf turned to the church doors, but suddenly they seemed a mile away. He swallowed, looked down. "Luc?" His voice wasn't as strong as he wished it.

Luc moved into the light and eyed the church appreciatively. "Most people find it hard to believe, but I've spent quite a lot of time in the House of the Lord. I was a perfect angel in my earlier years, really." The smile of strange nostalgia slipped off his face, and he moved towards Kurt slowly, like a predator not wanting to scare off his prey. "You're far more skittish than you ought to be. I know you, and me, and both our limits. Honestly, right now, you're just a waste of my _time_." He sighed dramatically and placed a cold hand on Kurt's shoulder. His voice dropped low and serious. "But if you threaten my work, Kurt, I will make you a priority. There are things going on here that've been in the works for decades, and I won't let you ruin them."

Kurt turned to see the church and found that the sight of it strengthened him. He clenched his fists. "Whatever you hoped would happen… it's not going to end well for you, and that outcome won't be because of me. It'll be because you chose the wrong person in Remy LeBeau. He's good."

Luc laughed out loud. "He's good right now, Kurt. _Right now_." But things change, Luc didn't say.

One of the streetlights exploded suddenly, spraying sparks and small streams of light in all directions. Kurt's eyes were momentarily distracted, caught up in the dazzling and impromptu display. When he looked back to Luc had been standing, he saw only a vast emptiness that extended far down the blackened street. He stood there for a moment longer, before he himself disappeared, leaving a trail of sulfur and smoke in his wake.

* * *

Rogue fastened the last of the buttons on her coat and stepped out into the night. The wind was refreshingly cool against her face. She paused to inhale the night air. It wasn't so bad living with a crowd of people, not anymore, but it was still soothing to be out in the open, with miles and miles of open space around her. Her eyes caught sight of someone in the distance, a smiling curling her lips. 

Her date.

Her _date_!

It seemed so long since she'd actually done this part of living. After her powers had manifested, she'd been too scared to consider it for a while, and then Scott was never interested, and- and it was nice to have someone show that kind of interest in her, even knowing her limitations. It was nice to get away from the mansion, the Mission, and her quarrel with Remy. Luc gave her a peculiar sense of freedom.

She rose up a gloved hand and waved.

* * *

_Remy was running from someone. At first, he thought his pursuers were the police, and that thought made him giddy. His feet moved faster in response, while his eyes scanned the foggy backdrop for any place to hide. But all the walls were solid, not a window or small corner in sight. Never mind. Remy chewed on the corner of his lip and indulged himself with a sharp grin. He could outrun them. He was bursting with energy and adrenaline; this was the sensation he'd been missing._

_But then, he passed them, and nearly tripped over their bodies. He had to jump to avoid the boys in blue, who lay scattered and far from consciousness. The giddy feeling left him, and a newfound sense of dread crept in to fill the empty space. If the police weren't after him, who was?_

_He dared a peek over his shoulder and saw only a deed lying on the floor. He fell out of his run and went to pick it up. The scribbling was small, red, and he didn't bother reading it because it seemed insignificant to the property being signed away: himself. The signature at the bottom was unfamiliar to him, but he memorized it anyway. John Black, it read. Whoever that was._

"_Remy?" He turned, and saw Luc, all concern and worry. The older man walked up to him and tossed an arm over his shoulder. Luc gave him a brief, comforting squeeze. "You're not alone, you know. I'm here with you. I'll always be here. This," and he snatched the deed away, "isn't anything you should fear."_

"_I don't understand it," Remy said._

"_You do," Luc assured him. "Trust me."_

_Mirrors suddenly surrounded them. If he squinted, Remy could make out the shape of a monster, and he coiled back in disgust and horror. A string of curses slipped out in a hushed, harsh whisper. The hand on his shoulder dug in harder, until he could feel nails pressing into his skin. "Resist the urge to flee, Remy."_

_Blinking hard, Remy said, "What _is_ dat?"_

"_Isn't it obvious?" Luc shook his head, like he couldn't believe Remy hadn't caught on yet._

_Remy looked back to the monster, all claws and teeth and bloody, matted fur. "Big foot?"_

"_Not quite."_

* * *

Well, I've accomplished a bit this great American holiday: threatened Kurt, sent Rogue on a date with Mr. Evil Incarnate, and hey, even added a tiff between Rogue and Remy, because hopefully you've all gotten the idea that they're chummy and now it's time to toy with that notion some. _Happy Fourth_ to my compatriots, belated as the sentiment may come. As always, any comments, questions, and red-white-and-blue-painted coconuts may be sent to me, c/o Eileenblzr (at) yahoo. 'Til next time! 

**On a more _personal_ note**:

**Kyo-Kitty, Kitsu LeBeau, Rogue14, GothikStrawberry, Nettlez, texasgrrl**: Ahem. A poem for my reviewers.

Thank you, dear readers, for all that you do

I hope you will continue to

Leave feedback and comments and fun musings for me

Because they make me so happy

Ta da!

**Ishandapenny**: There probably aren't flowers in Hell, but I kind of imagined these weedy, vine things. Sort of like the creepy junk on War of the Worlds, but taller and thicker. And while we did have the presence of holy water, chances of an exorcism are looking slim, alas. Although known I really feel like watching Constantine. Hmm. You're not a Buffy-Spike fan, are you?

**Cat2fat900**: I'm frightened at the prospect of having a ghost and a band of fire squirrels haunting me. PS. You're probably right about Luc not caring so much about the contents of the box. Thanks!

**IvyZoe**: The Rogue-Luc relationship is taking off isn't it. I blame you. And yes, she does know him that well. Ha!

**Lace123**: You're so good for my ego! I know how it is to have interest wane at times; that usually happens around the time when there are months between my updates. Heh. I must catch up on your story! It's on my list of things to accomplish in the near future. Thanks so much!

**Rogue238**: You didn't believe I'd make Rogue actually fall in love with Satan? I'm a little disappointed! Sadly, survey says Rogue will probably have the harder time forgiving Remy. Why must this happen! Oh right, because I wrote it that way…

**Jade**: I will update SS! Soon! Before the week is through, or my name isn't Amelia Beatrice Hearst. Interesting this is, it really could be Amelia Bea Hearst! Haha! Okay, seriously, thank you so much.

**Heartsyhawk**: Little known fact: all science and math teachers have to sell their soul before they are given their credentials. It's true. The shock of having one's soul owned by Satan is probably going to hit Remy hard, yes, but… well, I don't really have anything to make that better. Oh well. Thanks for the review!

**Betrayed Daughters**: Kurt is the most strongly religious. You're welcome. And go online more!

**Lady MR, Rogue4787**: So you know by now, hopefully, that Rogue didn't go out and spill the beans about Remy's guilt. He's still got enough sense and honor at this point to do the confessing himself. But from here on out, that honor may be in question… Thank you both so much!

**Shira's Song**: I denied everyone Kitty's reaction. Mostly because, well, I haven't thought it out yet. At the moment, Luc's not entirely bent on appealing to Remy's bad side, only because Remy isn't a bad person, only a confused teen that's trying to balance his loyalties and desires. He might slip a little further each time, though. As another villain once said, _these things must be done delicately, or you hurt the spell_.

**Roguechere**: My lips are sealed! And, er, my hands are… sealed too? You know what I mean! I honestly don't know yet how the relationships between Rogue and Remy and Luc will play out, but hopefully in a way which readers like you find fun and interesting? Yes, I shall hope. Thanks!

**Silverbells**: Cookies? Mine! At least Jubilee got her stuff back. Glad you're liking Luc!


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry, Sorry about how long this took. Honestly, I had most of it written ages ago, but then I agreed to help my dad do a paper route, and it totally through off my whole system. I couldn't write at all the past week. Luckily, I've adjusted. Ha! Reviews make my day, and me write faster.

**Chapter Four: The Devil's Gate**

_"Ugh. You're not answering your phone! Okay, look. We like, need to talk. I think I've just dumped Remy LeBeau. Wait, no. I know I have. I mean, he came to apologize, and I looked at him –I mean, really looked at him- and I didn't see someone that I want to be involved in with that way anymore. Am I stark raving, Rogue? Have you seen Remy? He's like –he reminds me of –well, of someone who's really, really hot. Should I change my mind? No, don't answer that. I'm not going to change my mind. What I really need is for you to call me up and tell me I'm doing the right thing. No one knows Remy and me like you. We don't belong together. Right?"_

* * *

Luc entwined his arm with Remy's, and pulled him through the double doors. Above their heads, a neon sign cracked and flashed, the words 'Devil's Gate' illuminated and bright against the black streets of New York. Luc's hand against his sleeve wasn't so much cold as chilled, like champagne in an ice bucket. His face held no smile, but there was unguarded pleasure in his eyes when they entered. "I think you're going to love the Devil's Gate. It's your kind of place." The walls in the hallway were painted black, completely bare, and a thin girl stopped them to request their coats.

Remy shrugged out of his blazer, and handed it to the pretty girl. She flashed him a grin –a perfect grin, really, all straight white teeth and heart-shaped lips- before moving out of their path. "How d' you know what kind o' place I like?" Remy challenged his companion.

"That's irrelevant. I plan to make this club whatever you want it to be. I told you, this is my apology. I want to make it right, Remy." They came upon another door, and Luc rummaged in his black slacks for the key with his free hand. After a moment, he came up with a silver card. As he slid it through the lock, he sighed. "It's really too bad that your girlfriend couldn't make it tonight. She's not mad about the misunderstanding, is she?"

"She's angry some," Remy acknowledged.

"Too bad."

The Devil's Gate was beautiful, bathed as it was in the soft glow of dimmed lights, covered in black carpet, leather chairs, graced by a live band, and best yet, no crowds. It didn't feel like a regular New York nightclub, more like someone had thrown a private party in their exceptionally well decorated home and invited only a select number of friends. Someone handed him a drink, which he promptly swallowed. It was Vodka something. It'd been months since he'd had any proper drink, and he craved another immediately.

Luc took up a flute and sipped elegantly while he scanned the rooms. "What's your initial impression?"

"It's great. Y' own it?"

"Well, no, as a matter of fact. But the owners and I go _way_ back. They let me have the run of the place. Where would you like to sit? Any room, any table, any_one_," he added with a playful wink, "is yours."

* * *

_"Hey, Kit-Kat. Sorry about not answerin'. Ah'm kind o' in the middle o' somethin'. But listen, ya don't need me. You've got great instincts, Kitty. Use them. Don't let Remy fool you. Ya know what ya want, and if he's not it, let him go. By the way, Ah think Steel Boy's got a crush on you. Possible? Hope it all turns out well. Talk to ya later!"_

* * *

Remy swallowed his martini and glanced around. Urgent business had called Luc away for a few minutes, but Remy wasn't inclined to care too much. He knew how to take care of himself, and the tab wasn't his to pay. That in mind, he gestured for a cocktail waitress to bring him something new, a flavor he hadn't yet reacquainted himself with. As she sauntered over, overly showy, like an ugly-girl-turned-suddenly-pretty, he checked his cell phone for any calls. There were none, as expected. Rogue was being diligent in her anger. And damn stubborn, too.

The cocktail waitress ignored his outstretched hand, and leaned across him to place his glass on the countertop. He felt the crush of her breasts against his arm and sighed. Her lips were full and red, her hair a kinky curl, and once upon a time, he'd have had her in a closet and insanely pleased, but… "Sorry. I've got too much on my mind," he told her.

She shrugged. "If you change your mind…"

"First place I'll call," he lied. He had better options. Still, the drink she brought was good.

"Are you in love or gay?"

Remy looked at the bartender, questioningly. "Pardon?"

"The only reason people ever turn her down," he explained. He laughed. "Maybe both?"

"Neither. I'm just not in da market."

"Huh. Now that sounds familiar. Its not common or anything –there are no rules here, after all, and zero consequences, so people tend to follow their uh, feelings, but earlier a gorgeous girl came through and must've shot all the men here down flat. I could've told them they didn't stand a chance; she was with _Luc_. A Southern spitfire, though."

Remy raised an eyebrow. "Dis girl, she had two-toned hair an' a tongue dat could sear through metal?"

The bartender grinned. "The first part of that, for certain. She had a headache and went into one of the private rooms."

"Thanks, _mon ami_," Remy said.

He started at the first door and knocked lightly with his knuckles. There was no response. With a frown, he twisted the knob and found it unlocked. "Here goes," he told himself, and jerked the whole thing open. It was the wrong room. There was a woman on the bed, and a man, and another woman, and another man, and very few clothes.

One of the women raised her head –no easy feat, all things considered- and grinned at him. "Hey, you want join?"

"Maybe another time," he said, backing out the way he'd come. There was no one in the second and third rooms, a private drinking party in the fourth, and an innocent game of Parcheesi in the fifth. He thought he was relatively safe in that one, until one of the players asked if he wanted to join. "No," he answered politely.

"Oh. Too bad. How do you feel about naked Twister?"

* * *

The man slipped down to his knees, sunk his fingers into the windowsill, and cried. Tears formed wet sheen on his wrinkled face and dripped off onto the pink satin of his shirt, already stained with water and blood. The gun rested nearby.

"Well, you finally did it." He sobbed at the sound of Luc. His only friend left. Especially, since… "You killed your wife."

"She was having an affair," the man declared. "You were right. She wanted to leave me and go live with him on his yacht. They were going to sail to Europe and be happy without me. I didn't know what else to do. I didn't have anywhere to turn."

Luc knelt beside the dead woman, felt her face. "It must've been a difficult."

"Yeah… it… it was." There was no way he could let her go. Not his beautiful, perfect, forever love. "I couldn't let her…"

"Leave you? But now you've left _her_, you see. She's gone. And you're still here. So you aren't really together after all."

The man choked. His breathing grew heavier, raspier. "You're right." He fumbled, clumsily for the gun that was still loaded. It had only taken one bullet to stop his wife, one clean shot because she'd been stunned to paralysis by the sight of it in his shaking, desperate hands. He brought up his shirt and wiped his nose on it, nodding to himself and to his guest. "You're right. You're right. If I don't… this will all be for nothing. I don't want that. With my luck, the bastard will die first, and he'll get her anyway. She's _my_ forever."

"Of course she is." Luc touched the deceased woman again, examining the softness of her evening gown. He continued to feel it, to finger it lightly, until the sound of thunder echoed in the large room, rattling the windows and the shelves. A precariously perched vase fell and shattered, like it's owner, into a million pieces on the floor. The dust fell onto the new blood and created a semi-paste. Luc smiled, and it was the only bright thing around.

* * *

Remy found her in the sixth room, curled up on a couch, her back to the door. "Chere?" He whispered low, to keep from disturbing her too much. When no response came, not even a biting insult, he went closer to the bed and examined her. She was asleep. Her face rested against a cushion. He laughed.

How odd.

The Devil's Gate was a fantastic place to be, he had to admit that, but Luc's promise of making anything he wanted had seemed to be lacking… until he found Rogue, sleeping and peaceful on a couch in a back room. Remy grinned. And her _asleep_, too.

Watching Rogue Sleep was his favorite secret pastime. She did slumber well. Eyes closed, face a clean slate, the steady rhythm of her breathing… Remy had never had a security blanket (the nuns favored prayer in times of fear, and his father had called the need an impossibly childish, degrading one), but he had always been a restless sleeper. Staying at Xavier's, he'd been surprised to find that watching Rogue put him at ease, and after observing her, he slept a hundred times sounder. She was like his…Teddy Bear (a fact he'd never share).

Remy settled into a chair away from the couch and continued to watch. All the alcohol he'd consumed made him drowsy. With a yawn, Remy closed his eyes. Just for a minute.

* * *

_Remy was running from someone. At first, he thought his pursuers were the police, and that thought made him giddy. His feet moved faster in response, while his eyes scanned the foggy backdrop for any place to hide. But all the walls were solid, not a window or small corner in sight. Never mind. Remy chewed on the corner of his lip and indulged himself with a sharp grin. He could outrun them. He was bursting with energy and adrenaline; this was the sensation he'd been missing._

_But then, he passed them, and nearly tripped over their bodies. He had to jump to avoid the boys in blue, who lay scattered and far from consciousness. The giddy feeling left him, and a newfound sense of dread crept in to fill the empty space. If the police weren't after him, who was?_

_He dared a peek over his shoulder and saw only a deed lying on the floor. He fell out of his run and went to pick it up. The scribbling was small, red, and he didn't bother reading it because it seemed insignificant to the property being signed away: himself. The signature at the bottom was unfamiliar to him, but he memorized it anyway. John Black, it read. Whoever that was._

"_Remy?" He turned, and saw Luc, all concern and worry. The older man walked up to him and tossed an arm over his shoulder. Luc gave him a brief, comforting squeeze. "You're not alone, you know. I'm here with you. I'll always be here. This," and he snatched the deed away, "isn't anything you should fear."_

"_I don't understand it," Remy said._

"_You do," Luc assured him. "Trust me."_

_Mirrors suddenly surrounded them. If he squinted, Remy could make out the shape of a monster, and he coiled back in disgust and horror. A string of curses slipped out in a hushed, harsh whisper. The hand on his shoulder dug in harder, until he could feel nails pressing into his skin. "Resist the urge to flee, Remy."_

_Blinking hard, Remy said, "What _is_ dat?"_

"_Isn't it obvious?" Luc shook his head, like he couldn't believe Remy hadn't caught on yet._

_Remy looked back to the monster, all claws and teeth and bloody, matted fur. "Big foot?"_

"_Not quite."_

"_Its…"_

"_You? Is that what you hesitate in asking? There are a lot of mirrors here, Remy. That could so easily be a reflection of you. Your inner demon. Or, of mine, I suppose, but I feel fairly certain I don't have an inner demon." He laughed. "Anyway, there's only one way to find out if it's you or if it isn't."_

_Remy wanted to say that he didn't care. Him or not, it was freaky, and he would be perfectly fine to just leave it alone. Walk away. Was there an exit to the funhouse from hell? There had to be. How else would he have wound up inside? If he could just find it…_

_But Luc pulled him closer to the monster and all protests died on his tongue. Certainly, they didn't register in his feet, which moved exactly where they were instructed. Closer, until he could see it's sharp claws, curling tail, and bright eyes. Bright red eyes._

"_It is me." He whispered._

* * *

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the creep." Rogue voice was low and sarcastic, but still enough to wake him. She was awake, and seated. "Gosh gee golly, Ah sure am luck for your company, Mister Cool. Except maybe have a good time, for once."

Remy wiped the sleep from his eyes and stifled a yawn. "Rogue. Yo' awake."

"No shit. An' honestly? Ah'm a little confused. There are many rooms in this club, Remy, leavin' absolutely no reason for you ta wind up in mine. Yet here you are, as always. By the way, ya smell like too much alcohol."

He scooted up. "Roguey."

"Actually, it's Miss Darkholme ta anyone Ah'd rather drown than talk with."

"Y' don't mean dat."

"Let's test the theory."

"Mmm. Later. Can't I explain?"

"There's nothin' to explain. You're a rebel, a crusader, a regular Indiana Jones. Can't regulate a free soul."

He moved to the couch, beside which a thin glass of something was resting. He lifted it up and drank some. "Its probably not what y' want t' hear right now, but technically Indiana Jones was regulated…an' he never kept anythin'…"

"You are such a bastard."

Remy reclined on the sofa and took a long sip from his glass. "So yo' not interested in hearin' what I have t' say at all? Not even a teensy, weensy lil' bit? 'Cause I can talk fast, if circumstances demand it. Might sound like one o' them squirrels on cartoons, y' know, wit' da squeaky voices…"

"Shut up," Rogue said.

"Didn't y' miss my company?"

"Like Ah'd miss a bullet in my kneecap, Gumbo."

"Last time y' were ragin' mad, it was a stiletto in da belly."

"Ah hate you."

He nodded and took another drink. "I'm sensin' some serious hostility in you, Chere."

"Are ya sensin' this?" She held up a single finger.

"Kit-Kat took it poorly, too."

"No kiddin'. Ah'm glad she finally wizened up an' dumped you."

"Rogue…"

"Remy."

"Can't we move on?"

"An' like, grin an' smile an' laugh an' be best friends forever?"

"I'm bein' sincere, here."

"You're a regular George Bailey."

"Children, come now. Let's not bicker and fight." The both looked away from each other at the same time, and found Luc leaning on the doorframe; his black jacket slung over one shoulder, his head cocked to the side, a sly grin tugging at the ends of his lips. As he pushed away, his movements were almost feline in nature, graceful without fail. "Care to make it a ménage-a-toi?" He pulled out a chair and dropped his slender body into it.

"Ah don't know how ya spend time with Remy." Rogue stated, pulled her feet up and dragging her body to the far end of the couch, as far away from Remy as it could possibly be without falling off. "He's an idiot. A stupid, jerky, immature, inarticulate, inconsiderate, womanizin', manipulatin' _idiot_."

Remy slouched and downed the rest of his drink. "She's crazy about me," he assured Luc. "We've just hit a rough patch in dis wacky soap opera we call a friendship, dat's all. Give it a day or two, an' our problems will all be solved."

"Ah'll have killed him," Rogue clarified. "In the most horrifically painful way the internet has ta offer." She leaned across and grabbed a bottle of wine sitting innocently on the table. She took a gulp and then unconsciously handed the rest to Remy, who cradled it to his chest like he were a baby, and it his favorite bottle.

"Well," Luc said, in his sure, paced tone. "I think you're both the most amazingly wonderful, brilliant, achingly attractive people I've ever had the good fortune to meet and that is why I'd like to extend you an offer. This part of this club is, great, lovely, all of that, but I keep a few rooms upstairs that will shock and delight you. What do you say? Up for exploring?"

"Um," Remy said. "I don't know…"

"Come on. _Please_?"

If any sudden doubts popped up in Remy's mind about why a grown man would beg for the attention of two teenagers, if any suspicious arose as he realized Luc gave him and Rogue the same heavy-lidded stare: a stare that would be equally appropriate between a man and his dinner, or two lovers on a bed, if any hesitations filtered back into his body, well. They were all squashed like peas beneath the Jolly Green Giant's feet, when reached into a cabinet hidden on the corner of the desk and pulled out the most expensive, rare, delicious champagne Remy had ever tasted. How had Luc gotten his hands on a bottle? "Could I…?"

"You can have it, Remy. I don't mind sharing. Besides, I've got something even better upstairs."

"What's so great about that?" Rogue wondered, as the two males rose to their feet. She remained curled on the couch, her eyes bright with curiosity.

Luc extended her a hand. "I'll explain on the way up?"

"Ah guess." Remy, after all, already seemed to have made his choice. She accepted the older man's arm, and the three of them started walking towards a bare wall. "Wow, this is great," Rogue said, sarcastically, when they reached the end.

"Touch it," Luc whispered in her ear.

"Huh?"

"The wall," he went on, entwining their hands and pushing her palm against the cold plaster. Something creaked, and then the entire space was gone, revealing a clean, white elevator that only went up. The interior was filled with soft light, so that no shadows could be cast. He stepped in first, and took Rogue with him. Remy joined them seconds later.

"Nice ride," he teased.

"Someday soon, you'll get the delicious irony." The elevator doors snapped shut, and it carried them away.

* * *

No real notes here. Um. That's what happens when you drink too much? Now where's my Bailey's… (_kiddin_g…).

On a _personal _note:

Nettlez: If Kurt doesn't tell the professor, it might be because he feels it goes beyond the normal 'bad mutant, good mutant' scenario. We haven't seen who or what he's consulting in the matter, yet, but odds are it'll probably be someone with a bit of experience in theology. Luc is like an evil man…but what can do you? Thanks for the review!

Rogue238: In fairness to Rogue, she doesn't know she's out with the Devil, or else I don't think she'd be so willing, otherwise. And consider, they're young and impressionable, still. Rogue and Remy strike me as being particularly vulnerable. Thanks!

Heartsyhawk: Is there no way to save him? Well, I'm inclined to say that 'Reviews' might save him but the truth is, I've already written out the ending chapter and now it's just a matter of getting there. And Rogue's naïve, yeah, but Luc is good-looking, and seemingly nice and attentive. Thanks!

Roguechere: Like I trust you and your cry for 'triangles' now, you R/L shipper! You'd probably be just fine, if Logan got her instead. Ha! But seriously, thanks for reviewing. Always glad ta hear from ya. I'm pleased that you find Luc a truly bad guy.

It would stink to try and write the devil, and have people be all, aww, what a nice guy.

Ishandafish: Thank God you're not a Buffy/Spike fan. It would be strange and unsettling to have you on the other side. I must also applaud your ability to spout random things, and then bring it all back to the Romy in the end. I live in awe of such talent. You wanted Kit's reaction, but I'm holding it off for… well, for another chapter. Er, sorry? I do find it oh, so amusing that Rogue can date the devil, but if Bella had stepped foot in this story, you'd be demanding her head on a silver platter, wouldn't you.

IvyZoe: The reason Remy doesn't recognize Satan is that…well, Satan's a sneaky bastard. He doesn't want Remy to know. Is this a Romy? You know, I've been avoiding that question because I want you all to wonder…but I'm afraid it's making people not want to read. Hmm. I'll think on actually answering that. :D

MusigMistress: Why your compliments are much appreciated! I'm so pleased that you thought it had a good plot! Now you just have to keep coming back to find out how it all turns out in the end. Bwahaha. Thanks, muchly.

Lady MR: Hmm. How did he feel about Bella's death? I'll try and work a mention of it in, somewhere. He did actually care about her in this one, I figure it was an untimely death that really broke his heart, perhaps drove him out of New Orleans and into Magneto's hands. But, he's recovered. Hopefully. Heh. Thanks, about Luc. There's actually a story (sort of) about him, but that won't come until later. Y'all come back now, ya hear?

Cat2fat900: Ya hate Scooter? Come on, he's not _that_ bad. Luc is ruining everything, isn't he? Curse him! And review again! P.S. Did ya see the part where I mentioned the squirrels? Consider it their little cameo.

Spicy Sweet: Thank you, much! Come again, again, AGAIN! Er, if you want to, I mean.

Shira's Song: Scott, being the young adult he is, is actually starting to assume a greater role as leader of the X-Men. He's not acting like a guardian or a student to a younger person in his care, but rather as a general to one of his men. Not knowing stuff is driving you batty? I am pleased. And, reminded of Ferngully. "Are you sure? I'm positive. Only fools are positive. Are you sure? I'm positive –oh, I can't believe I fell for it!" This is where I dissolve into crazy laughter. Thanks for reviewing!

Kitsu LeBeau: I'll be upfront; the dream won't be explained until the end, when it will all be oh, so clear. Rogue's date won't be explained until…two chapters from now. Sorry, sorry. Thanks for reading, and I hope you continue to do so!

GothikStrawberry: Well, Remy confessed and Scooter wanted to give him a chance, the implication being if he messes up again, the punishment will be more severe. Come again, dear reviewer!

Lace123: Ah, I love that you feel that way about Luc. When I first started his character, that's kind of what I was going for. Someone tempting and refined and a bit like Remy, but with far darker intentions. The red, gargoyle-ly image of Satan can be frightening, but I don't think it would help pull Remy towards hell. Ha. Keep up the good reviews!

Betrayed Daughters: Hello, dear friend whom I haven't spoken to since, er, last night. Yes, Rogue and Remy's relationship isn't exactly lovely dovey, but there must be a reason for that, right? But we'll see. Yes, we shall. Bwahahaha.


	6. Chapter 6

Ha, oops! My bad! I didn't mean for this to take so very long. Really. True story! I dunno where the years have gone. Comments give me peace of mind, lack of comments gives me writer's block. The future is in your hands!

Chapter Six: Mind Games

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There was writing on the carpet, large black type against a cream-white backdrop, and Rogue squinted to make out the words. She got as far as a single sentence, a quote it turned out, that read, "_To him that you tell your secret you resign your liberty". _She tried to read the next part, but by then the whole trio of them was out of the elevator and Remy was admiring the hallway – its pure white walls, doors, and ceiling – and Luc was talking about scientists and "years of study". They pulled Rogue along, and she gave a half-hearted sigh before deciding that words on the floor didn't really matter anyway.

"It's called The Game," Luc said, "And we think it's going to be the next big trend in clubs. Each door leads into a room, each room holds a neuro-scanner and holo-emitter head-piece that taps into the user's subconscious and divines that person's great fantasies. The fantasies are then projected out as life-like, interactive holograms for the user's pleasure."

"Like a holodeck," Rogue said.

"An' the Danger Room," Remy added, before Rogue had a chance to hurt him, physically, for bringing up the still top-secret facility.

"Close." Luc grinned. "We have a prototype up and running, though the consumer ready version has to be tested by the state before it's officially approved. You know the government. Still, I bet you'd both enjoy a chance to encounter your own fantasies. The scientists working on it assure me it's safe for testing. So what do you say? Care to make this my Grand Gesture?"

"Hmm," Rogue said, just a little wary of things that tapped into her already-unruly mind.

"Hmm." Remy agreed, set as he was on not jumping into anything Rogue didn't approve of.

"Damn it, Remy, can ya have your own opinion, _please_?" She glared daggers at him, so sharply he had the urge to feel his chest for wounds.

"Ow," he said, unhappily.

"Just wait," she promised.

"For forgiveness an' love?"

"More like an untimely death."

He said, "... And then, forgiveness an' love?"

"No!"

"So, why would I wait for dat?" She was mad again, or still, but suddenly he wanted to smile. He hid it with a cough that fooled no one.

Rogue clentched her fists and turned back to Luc. "If it gets me the hell away from _him_, Ah'll do it."

"One person per room is a strict rule. Come on. I'll show you both to your own room, if you'd like to participate, Remy..." For lack of options, and perhaps for curiosity's sake, Remy did.

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The head-piece was more or less a helmet in appearance, a slim thing that Luc slid over her head with ease. He pressed a button and then backed out of the room. "Just relax," he told her. "The Game will figure out when you're ready and begin then."

With a deep breath, Rogue closed her eyes...

_She opened them._..

She was standing on a shoreline, salt water licking at her ankles, one hand stretched up above her head to block the sun. She lowered it slowly, pausing when the ring on her finger caught the light. The inscription on it lit up, like fire on gold: _A promise_. Rogue frowned. The rest of her arm was bare. The rest of _her_ was bare, practically. Her dark layers of clothes had given way to cut-off jean shorts that exposed her thighs and a small green bikini top, supported by a tiny string that looped around her neck. "What the..." She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, more from unease than cold.

A low, long whistle pierced the air, and all around her, sound came alive: the roar of the ocean, the cry of the pelicans, and the molasses-heavy voice of the Cajun admiring her. "A vision o' beauty, if ever I saw one. Oh, _Chere_, y' must be an angel come t' carry dis poor sinner t' paradise."

She frowned. She knew that voice. Knew that boy, and damn it, there weren't supposed to be any intruders on her mind-scape. This was her room in the Game; what was Remy LeBeau doing in it? She spun around, so fast all the sand around her feet twisted up into the air. "What do ya think you're doing here, Cajun? Ah thought Ah made myself clear."

He was there, all right. Sunglasses on his head, champagne bottle and glass flutes in his hands, and a white, unbuttoned shirt on his back, he shrugged. "So did I. You said, Remy, go get da drinks. An' here!" He held up the champagne. "Like a well trained puppy, I obeyed. Y' supposed t' reinforce my good behavior with kisses an' love, not dat scrunched up mad face. It's cute, but inappropriate." He made a '_tsk, tsk_' sound with his teeth.

"Screw_you_, Cajun."

"Won't y' please? I ain't gotten none all day long." He pouted in a way that would've been charming, if she hadn't wanted to rip off his head.

"Like that's ever been your problem."

"Well._Oui_. But _Chere_, be serious! Y' know dis firecracker only sparks for you!"

She frowned. "What?"

He grinned. "Dis sailor only sails one sea!" She blinked. He added, "Dis pirate only claims one booty?" When she didn't respond, he raised an eyebrow. "Rogue. You're da only girl for me."

She gaped. "Are ya really doin' this?"

Remy lifted his chin and the grin disappeared into an honest frown. "Wooin' da love o' my life on a beach in California? _Oui_!."

"No!" She insisted.

"No? Umm..."

"You're treatin' me like Ah'm every other girl. Plain talk didn't work, so now you're gonna turn on that Cajun charm, an' Ah'm supposed ta fall, just one more domino on your path ta total conquest o' the feminine population? Ya think Ah'm that dumb? That _stupid_? Ah thought at least – ha, at _least_ – ya'd have enough respect for me ta treat me like Rogue, a friend, not Girl Number Three Three Nine." She shut her eyes and clenched her fists. "Stupid me, after all."

"Rogue!" Remy held out his hands. "I just went for champagne!"

But she wasn't done. She said, "Did ya even think about Kitty? It hasn't been a whole day since the two o' you split. Doesn't that matter at all?"

"Kitty... Katherine? La Petite?" He moved back a step this time, like she might be crazy and dangerous, and good for him because she probably_was_. "With da 'likes' an' da giggles and da pink... _everywhere_?" He laughed. "Now I know dat's a joke. Ain't no two people less compatible in da world. I'd sooner canoodle with Scooter. 'Least he has nice shoulders... an' don't tell me there ain't a desperate need t' be dominated behind all dat posturin'."

"Ew._Ugh_. Can ya stop?" Not that she disagreed, she thought reluctantly. But... but, "_Damn it!_ This is so dumb. Go away!" She leaned forward enough to give him a push, and he stepped back once before disintegrating into the air. He was just... completely... _gone_. Like some kind of Evapo-Remy. Like someone who wasn't really there at all. Like... part of the Game. But that was just absurd, because a game that was supposed to latch on to her dreams and fantasies should not have brought her Remy LeBeau on a beach in California, with champagne and professions of love.

Of love. Of love! That was ridiculous. Talk about a glitch in the program. She'd rather die a lonely, desperate, cat-loving psychopath than to trade notes and kisses with the Cajun Man-Whoring Wonder. Remy LeBeau was a bastard, plain and simple. She turned around and headed for the other side of the shore...

"Rogue! Y' can't leave me alone here. Where's da romance in dat?" There was a tap on her shoulder and then a rose peeked over, glistening and bright. "Roses are red, my love, violets are blue. Sugar is sweet,_Cherie_, but not as sweet as you. Da poem is lame, but da sentiment is real. Give me another chance. I'll be better."

"Remy!" She stopped walking and seized the rose. "Ah'm gonna cram this rose inta your head."

"Didn't we do a face threat already?"

She said, "Wrong head," and shoved the flower towards him. "Go."

"But... Rogue."

"Ah don't want ta hear it."

"_Chere_!"

"Not remotely interested."

"But Rogue!"

"_What_, Remy? What could ya possibly have ta say that would make the situation improve?"

There was only the slightest hesitation on his lips before he said, "I can't leave. Y' won't let me. Dis world is yours, an' you control what happens here. I'm just... part o' da scenery." He shrugged. "I left because y' said, but y' brought me back soon after. If y' want me to go again, I will, but... y' have t' want it, first. _Really_ want it, if its gonna stick."

She shut her eyes. "Ah do really want it."

Almost sadly, he said, "So how come I still be here?"

"Because you're a bastard in any incarnation." With a heavy sigh, Rogue dropped down onto the sand and rubbed her hands over her face. "Okay. Fine. Tell me what it is Ah think Ah want ta hear from Remy LeBeau... o', _whatever_. Get it over with."

Remy knelt down beside her, and his eyes were pools of concern. It sickened her. "I don't know how ta say it in a way dat doesn't make y' mad. All I can do is confess what I feel... Rogue, I love you. In da crazy, dumb, dis boy must be whipped kind o' way." He reached for her, and she instinctively shied back – but he reached again, and caught her arm. The Game worked well in one regard, she didn't drain his powers away. Then he caught her by surprise: he looped his arm around her neck and kissed her lips.

He tasted like salt water and felt like satin, and the feel of it made her heart bend and bend until it cracked in half. Everything oozed out. She pushed him back, cursed his name, but the damage was done. Nothing could erase the taste of his mouth on hers, and even though he wasn't the Real Remy, just a fabrication of her mind... even though it was just a fantasy... God... _she wanted it to be real_. She wanted to kiss him. To dive at him, pin him to the sand, and keep him there until she'd had her fill of his taste and feel and sounds. She wanted Remy LeBeau. Her best friend. And that would've been all wonder and magic, except when she was done playing with Pinocchio, she had to go back to reality and the Remy of real, and that one didn't want her back. Not like _that_. They were just friends. (_And he was a bastard, still_).

She cupped her mouth and muttered a half-muted a "_Crap_."

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When Remy opened his eyes in the game-world, he was running from someone. At first, he thought his pursuers were the police, and that thought made him giddy. _He'd been missing a good chase_. His feet moved faster from the thrill, while his eyes scanned the foggy backdrop for any place to hide. But all the walls were solid, not a window or corner in sight. Never mind. Remy chewed on the corner of his lip and indulged himself with a sharp grin. He could outrun them. He was bursting with energy and adrenaline.

But then he passed them, and nearly tripped over their bodies. He had to jump to avoid the unconscious cops, who lay scattered and far from consciousness. The giddy feeling subsided, and a newfound sense of dread crept in to fill the empty space. If the police weren't after him, who was? He dared a peek over his shoulder and saw only a deed lying on the floor. He fell out of his run and went to pick it up. The scribbling was small, red, and he didn't bother reading it because it seemed insignificant to the property being signed away: himself. The signature at the bottom was unfamiliar to him, but he memorized it for future reference. John Black, it read. Whoever that was.

"Remy?" He turned and saw Luc, all concern and worry. The older man walked up to him and tossed an arm over his shoulder. Luc gave him a brief, comforting squeeze. "You're not alone, you know. I'm here with you. I'll always be here. This," and he snatched the deed away, "isn't anything you should fear."

"I don't understand it," Remy said.

"You do," Luc assured him. Mirrors suddenly surrounded them. If he squinted, Remy could make out the shape of a monster, and he coiled back in disgust and horror. A string of curses slipped out in a hushed, harsh whisper. The hand on his shoulder dug in harder, until he could feel nails pressing into his skin. "Resist the urge to flee, Remy."

"Haha, maybe next time." But then, movement in the mirrors caught his attention. Blinking hard, Remy said, "What is _dat_?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Luc shook his head, like he couldn't believe Remy hadn't caught on yet.

Remy looked back to the monster, all claws and teeth and bloody, matted fur. "Big foot?"

"Not quite."

"Its…"

"You? Is that what you hesitate in asking? There are a lot of mirrors here, Remy. That could so easily be a reflection of you. Your inner demon. Or, of mine, I suppose, but I feel fairly certain I don't have an inner demon." He laughed. "Anyway, there's only one way to find out if it's you or if it isn't."

Remy wanted to say that he didn't care. Him or not, it was freaky, and he would be perfectly fine to just leave it alone. Walk away. Was there an exit to the fun house from hell? There had to be. How else would he have wound up inside? If he could just find it… But Luc pulled him closer to the monster and all protests died on his tongue. Certainly, they didn't register in his feet, which moved exactly where they were instructed. Closer, until he could see it's sharp claws, curling tail, and bright eyes. Bright red eyes.

"It is me." He whispered.

He turned to Luc, because the man seemed to have all the answers. "What do I do now?"

"I've heard that some people battle their inner demons, Remy." Of course. Except…

"But he's a reflection in da mirror. An' even if he weren't, I don't have no weapons. He's got claws." Sharp claws, at that.

"And I thought you were supposed to be resourceful. Reach in and pull him out. You don't need weapons. You've got spirit."

Yes. He had spirit. Remy swallowed hard and stuck his hand towards the glass. Amazingly, it went right through. His fingers curled around the shirt that the demon was wearing. He gave a yank, and the demon stumbled. Remy laughed, mildly surprised. Was he really that strong? How… empowering.

He grinned, and attacked.

"_Woah, Remy! Relax! Wake up_!" A hand seized his and shook it; the world around him fell away with a shake, like reality was made of puzzle pieces and they were all tumbling to the ground, vanishing into the white tile of the floor. Remy opened his eyes and gasped. Luc was still holding his hand, moving his fingers back and forth in a vaguely soothing action. He said, "I'm not sure what happened... but I think you fell asleep with the Game on. Come on, sit up. Take a deep breath."

Remy nodded and did as he was told. "What next?"

"Next?" Luc patted his back. "Next we find Rogue and see how she's doing."

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She wasn't doing overly well. She'd separated herself from the Game on her own, and was sitting on the floor, her back up against the wall. The hair in the corners of her face had turned to ringlets, probably from sweat, and Remy had the urge to be sit next to her and speak soothing words; instead, he held his tongue while Luc took the actions he'd wanted for himself. He ran his hand along Rogue's arm, murmured something Remy didn't hear.

Then, he held up his head and spoke to both of them. "I'm not going to lie to you two. The neuro-scanner technology recorded both your Games and I was able to see bits and pieces of what you experienced. It's a protective feature; sometimes our own fantasies can be deadly. Regardless, I know what it is you saw." Rogue cringed at that, and Luc said, "But trust me, I have no interest in exploiting the... secrets exposed to me." And Remy was relieved, too, because he was already in hot water for getting back in the thieving game briefly; if Rogue and Co. found out he was still dreaming about the thrill... "Your secrets are safe," Luc said. "You can trust me."

He offered Rogue a helping hand in standing up, and slipped his arm around her waist, tugging her close to his side, after. She said, "Ah didn't see what Ah expected ta see here." She didn't look Remy in the eye, _at all. _He was never going to get out of that dog house.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am for that. Apparently, there are more kinks to work out than reported." He shook his head and looked apologetic to Remy. "I'm afraid this isn't quite the perfect evening I had planned. Maybe I should give up trying." Luc's pale face cracked into a grin, all of a sudden. "But I have one more trick up my sleeve but I throw in the towel completely. I know exactly where we can go."

"Ah don't know, Luc." Rogue sighed. "Mostly Ah'm just tired."

"But Rogue! One more place?" He bit his lip and creased his brow and was at once the handsome, slightly misplaced man he'd been on their doorstep, pale and friendly and eager to please. His cool blue eyes were almost warm. He whispered something in her ear and she laughed, faintly, and then nodded. "Thank you, Rogue," he breathed, lightly. "You never fail to delight. To Remy he said, "Are you in?"

"Maybe not." He sighed. "Da_femme_ isn't da only one who's tired."

"But this is _your_ night."

"But it's not my night, mon ami. Part of me feels I should go home early n' start tryin' t' make amends with da people I got upset. Lord knows it's gonna take enough talk." There was Kitty, for starters. He had to at least apologize, for being a terrible boyfriend if nothing else. He had been the initiator of their ill-fated romance.

"Remy. Are you sure?" Remy looked at Luc, at Rogue, and then at the floor.

"_Oui_. I'm sure."

"Well, if you insist. I'll call a taxi."

Remy tried again to make eye contact with Rogue, but she just leaned against Luc's weight and stared at the floor. He didn't want to leave her, but he didn't want to exacerbate their problems anymore than he had already done. He said, "I'm sure."

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"Ah'm so glad that wasn't awkward," Rogue muttered dryly, when Remy was gone and Luc was busy arranging transportation for him and Rogue for their next Big Adventure. "Clearly, living with him is gonna be a snap!" The false cheer in her voice died as her face fell into a frown.

"Rogue?" Luc said, glancing from the phone book in his hands to the girl at his side.

"Did ya see?" She asked, not sure how much he knew, or how much she wanted him to. If he knew nothing, all the better to keep the secret. But if he'd seen the fake Remy – and she wanted to cringe, because how could he have missed such a centering feature of her mind-scape? - then maybe she could talk to him. Ask for advice. And after all, it wasn't like she could go to Kitty or Remy. _DamnitDamnitDamnit_.

"If you're referring to the whole Cajun-love-professions part, absolutely not." Luc said, with a small smile.

"Ugh! All this time Ah've been calling Remy dumb, and here Ah am, secretly loving the worst possible person." She buried her face in her hands and let out a frustrated groan. "Ah'm an _idiot_. How did Ah not get that? Did Ah miss the warning signs? Not take 'When Harry Met Sally' seriously enough? Fall in the crazy pool while my eyes were closed?"

"You're panicking," Luc said.

"For reals?" Rogue said, with fake earnestness. Then, "That doesn't help!"

"Rogue, Rogue." Luc clicked the phone off and gestured for her to step closer. "All I can tell you is that sometimes things happen we can't control, and the only way to recover is to make some alteration in the things we can. You're attracted to Remy. Okay. That was unexpected. But maybe you could counter it with a little bit of planned romance. "

"Ya mean..."

"I mean... find someone who can help you take your mind off the things you don't want to think of. I happen to know someone who'd be willing to be used... however you might see fit." He gave her a smile and placed a hand on her shoulder. "This might be an awkward time to announce my attraction and interest. Sorry for that." The apology sounded sincere, but he gave no outward physical reaction that would confirm it.

She looked up at him. That Luc was an attractive man was nothing _new_. There was something in the easiness of his smile that made him seem easy to please – and pleasing was not something she did easily. Something in the way that he looked at her that made her feel attractive, made her want to blush and look away – and that was not common, either. Remy was the best friend she could imagine, but Luc was the first guy since Scott that just... appealed to her. _That_ way. Maybe indulging that attraction a little could help her get over the whole 'being in love with the best friend' thing.

_MaybeMaybeMaybeMaybe_... (not?)

"Whatever you say, I'll still keep your secret." Luc assured her, edging his hand up towards the sides of her face. "And in return, I'll give you a secret of my own. You're a mutant, but I'm not exactly 'normal' either..." He trailed his hand up – up – up until it was brushing her cheek, and there was the secret and the surprise – her powers never kicked in. She remained herself, with a hand on her face that was warm and shocking and pleasant all at once.

"What the..."

"See? I wouldn't be such a bad choice." Luc leaned in – hesitantly at first – and brushed the slightest hint of a kiss across her mouth.

"Oh," she said. "...Okay then." And while her mind seemed to fizzle and evaporate, she stood motionless and let him kiss her again.

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End chapter six, the source of _much_ consternation. Um, so there were a couple of problems in the story tone, etc, that I wanted to revise before the posting of chapter six, but then today I was like, ah, screw it! And decided that finishing a fic might be better than trying the (undoubtably impossible) task of perfecting it. Perhaps if the idea works here, I might apply it to many more of my unfinished fics. Anyways, it's been a while, so forgive me if I need to find my X-voice (that sounds almost r- rated), but I will be sure to find it soon! (We can hope). As always, all questions, comments, and coconuts can be sent to me as a review here, an email to eileenblzr(at)yahoo(dot)com, or to the Yahoo Messenger ID of the same name. I love feedback!


	7. Chapter 7

Happy Holidays, all! So I recently installed Office 2007 – for the sole reason that I wanted my apostrophes to be slanted again – and I have unexpectedly fallen in love. I just like the way it looks! I want to keep the program open all the time and of course, this involves me writing things. So I bring you – gasp – yet another chapter! If you're keeping track, that's two updates in one month! Please note a previous mistake: _this_ is chapter six, the last was chapter five. My bad!

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Chapter Six: Apple Core Confessions

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"Kurt? Can we talk?" The blue elfin mutant glanced up from his book and frowned at Scott Summers, who was lurking in the doorway, moving an unseen object between his hands. Kurt nodded quickly, shut the book and gestured for Scott to claim the empty desk chair beside his bed. Scott did so, and then held out an open palm, the object centering it now revealed to be a small white rosary – one of Kurt's own. "You left this at the kitchen table earlier. I don't mean to pry, but is everything going okay? I haven't seen you pray this hard since your Algebra grade depended on that two-hour final. Ouch, by the way."

A small smile slipped across Kurt's face. "Ja. That was not a good semester." Then he frowned again, deeper this time, because – how to explain. Sometimes he wished his English was poor, so that he could hide behind that old veil of non-comprehension. "I'm worried about Rogue and Gambit," he said. _I think the devil is trying to woo them._

"Hmm." The sort-of remark gave Kurt confidence; so Scott had been concerned about them, _too_. But then the older teen went on. "Because Gambit was caught stealing? He was genuinely remorseful… I think that has to count for something. We can't forget that his birthday is coming up in a couple of days. I don't think he knows we know, but..." The corners of his lips turned up. "Maybe he's just trying to work out stuff out before adulthood becomes official. As for Rogue, well. He's become good friends with her. It can be hard when the people you rely on start to change."

Kurt sighed. "I know." Then, because Scott still wasn't quite getting it and he might not ever, he said, "Since when are you the camp counselor? Isn't this Xavier's job? No offense, but he_ i__s_ the headmaster."

"In more ways than one," Scott joked lightly. Then he shrugged. "Even team leaders get tested on their abilities. This month it's Sensitivity in Leadership. Everything I ever wanted to know about active listening, care in reprimands, and more. Don't grow up to be a team leader," he advised, jokingly, and stood up. "I'm in helpful mode for another two weeks, so if there's anything more you want to talk about, don't hesitate to find me." He tapped his knuckles against the desk a couple times and walked out of the room, leaving Kurt with his book and his rosary. The emptiness of the room was sudden, and Kurt clutched the rosary; he turned back to the book he'd been reading: _Saving S__ouls_. _The decisi__on to shake off temptation_, it was written, _must ultimately b__e made by each individual for themselves._ Kurt frowned again.

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"Turning in early, then?"

Remy LeBeau was curled up in the backseat of the cab, his knees bent, the side of his head pressed against cold, flat window, eyes shut; he murmured a small, "Pardon?" in response to the questioning, and eased an eye open. He could see only the top half of the driver's head, a slick helmet of brown-black hair visible, and it moved to and fro in time with the cab's roll.

"It's just I figured the night would be early for most people of your age and inclinations. But there you are, falling asleep in the backseat of my cab. So I guess you must be calling it a night early for some _particular_ reason. Of course I could be wrong – you feel free to set me in my place if I've gone and assumed too much." The helmet bounced again, and Remy sat up, suddenly more awake and less easy.

"Well, I am seventeen," he said. "I think most people my age are home wit' da parents, feelin' giddy 'cause they managed t' sneak a little o' mom an' pop's martini when no one was lookin', shufflin' homework papers." He peered out the window and failed to recognize the scenery."We far?"

"Shortcut," the driver promised. "We'll be there in minutes. I don't use these extra quick paths for everyone, but Luc says you're a special case – a personal friend – and I'm pulling out the stops to get you where he wants you to be. Yes, Sir, he can count on me. Did you hear how that rhymed?"

They passed a series of clubs and bars, with neon, illuminated signs and pictures of women and beer in ample supply. None of it held any remote interest for Remy, until they drove past a particular club with a line of at least thirty people that bent around the corner. There was something strange about the crowd, and though it took him a minute to pinpoint it, once it came it was impossible to ignore: everyone was ridiculously _young_. Their clothes fit the current mode and a burly, surly bouncer was still checking ID'S at the entrance, but everyone seemed to have the rounded, soft faces of youth. "What's dat about?" Remy wondered.

"The opening of the Apple Core – the first nightclub on the strip tailored to the young; no alcohol allowed, no person over twenty-five without express clearance from the owners themselves. I thought you'd be up to date on these things. Guess I misjudged you."

Remy narrowed his eyes and stared harder at the people in line. Once upon a time, he _had_ been up to date on everything like this: where to go for a good time, what to order, and getting in had been a snap… could he even get in now, like before? Or would he be – God _forbid_ – be forced to wait in line? _Not important!_ He chided himself for being so distracted. "Not misjudged. I just have my priorities elsewhere." Like… on training missions. And chores, he didn't add.

"Uh huh." The cab driver was suddenly cynical.

"I'm not _lying_." Remy was almost insulted.

"I wouldn't dream of saying you were," was the quick and insincere response. _Was it insincere or was that just his own mind, pushing him forward, egging him on__, daring him to more drastic action__ Don't take the bait, don't take the bait, don't take the -_

"I could prove it," Remy added.

The helmet bounced higher. "I never said you couldn't." But it was there in his voice, doubt dripping like water from a faucet. He didn't think Remy could do it. And that would not do. A challenge like that – so obviously waiting for _him_ – could not be ignored. Luckily it was something that Remy could fix fast. One minute out of the cab, the next into the club, and then he'd come back to the cab again, his confidence bolstered and the driver silenced.

"I'll show you," Remy said, "Drive around da block – I'll be back." With that, he slipped out the door and headed for the club, intent on proving a point and _still_ getting back to the mansion before too late.

But…

When Remy LeBeau finally left the Apple Core the glow of neon lights had subsided, replaced by an insistent sun and the hum of daytime activities. He'd been the life of the party inside, the Apple Core's new favorite son, but now there was a drumming in his head, an ache in his limbs, and a ringing tone in his pocket. He pulled out his phone and groaned – an X-Men training drill. This meant, of course, that before he had a chance to officially make amends with Kitty, she'd get the chance to take a weapon to his head. He winced internally, because for all that fluff, that girl pulled no punches. Hailing a cab (his own was long gone), Remy headed home.

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He arrived more or less on time – _less_, Scott was quick to remind him in a way that meant_, don't let it happen again_. Kitty glared, her eyes like dark pools of poison, trying to seep into his blood supply. Rogue was back, too, and still avoiding him, only slightly more chipper. And that was an odd word to associate with Rogue. Chipper. She – he –_they__ –_ didn't do chipper. Jean kept looking at him weird, until he finally started concentrating on setting up some kind of mental barrier; he couldn't stop her from going inside his head if she wanted to, but he could stop his thoughts from leaking out. Kurt seemed to want to approach him, but like he couldn't quite figure out how. Scott just adjusted his visor and said, "Be ready, Team."

The simulation was an old one: inner city; sentinels marching in from every corner, laser beams shooting from their hands; winds picking up, clouds setting in; limited resources available. Remy retrieved a deck of cards and shuffled them, eyeing the large robots for points of weakness. Kitty stepped up to his side. "So like, are you gonna beat them in a game of gin rummy?" She was being deliberately snide.

"I said I was sorry!"

"If you weren't such a liar, maybe I'd, like, believe you. You know, I'm not upset that we're broken up for good, I'm just annoyed that I didn't have enough sense to pull the plug sooner, and that you didn't have enough respect for me to, like, tell the truth for even _half_ the time we were together."

"I told a couple o' tiny white lies!" Remy charged a card and threw it over Kitty's head, and watched it explode against a sentinel's chest. The robot lurched. "Who doesn't do dat? I'll admit maybe we were mismatched after all, but don't tell me y' didn't bend a couple o' truths all dat time."

"You stole from Jubilee." She reached into the leg of the sentinel and pulled out enough wires that the entire machine collapsed. She wrapped her hand around Remy's wrist so that they both phased through the sentinel as it fell down into their space and then quickly released him. "After you _promised_ us you wouldn't steal at all."

"It was a mistake. I'm entitled t' make 'em by virtue o' my less-n'-perfectness."

"Well." Kitty turned away her face. "Being with you was mine." If he'd had Rogue to smooth the fight, it might have been better. But Kitty was stubborn and determined to be mad, he didn't have the patience for silly arguments, and whenever he came near Rogue and tried to smile, she moved away before any other communication could pass between them. So they were that way, a broken triangle between Remy and the two girls he'd liked best at the mansion, the two best friends he had in Bayville; able to fight together seamlessly, but too awkward and mad to talk.

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After the training session, he found himself back at the Apple Core, for lack of pleasing alternatives. The faces there weren't close to his heart, but they were all friendly and quick to compliment. Luc was there, too, and fast becoming an unintentional confidant. "It feels all wrong," Remy admitted, staring into his cup of cider. "An' I shouldn't wonder – da X-Men took me in when I didn't have anyone t' care – but I _do_. All da time, lately. Was da mansion just a phase? A place o' transition, t' help me get back on my feet? How could I possibly go from feelin' like one o' da gang t' Xavier's temporary guest? An' all da rules… how can I live my life dat way? It's not in my blood."

"I admit. I know your father. He's always been an opportunist," Luc observed, shaking an imaginary wrinkle from his black pants. "And I know the feeling, like when you sit in once place too long and your legs fall asleep. The only sure cure is to get them moving again. I'm not telling you to leave your friends, but if they are _really_ your friends, won't they still care about you even if you move out? I know it sounds greedy, but I'm a firm believer that a man should get to have his cake and eat it, too. Your own rules and your own friends. It makes sense to me."

"It is startin' t' make sense t' me, too." Remy sighed. "How is Rogue? I know she's been communicatin' wit' you, but she won't come near me. It's only gettin' worse. Da closer I get da further she moves away."

"We're visiting the carnival tomorrow. Why don't you join us? A little leisure time away from the X-Men might be a good way to ease back into her good graces. Plus," Luc gave a grin, the wide one that revealed his sharp white teeth, "There's plenty of fun to be had."

"I…" He was hesitant to inject himself into another of Rogue's activities.

"You're tempted to say yes_. Give in_," Luc urged.

"All right," Remy caved, deciding he trusted the other man _at least_ enough to accept the invitation. Luc was right when he said that the LeBeaus were opportunists. But he'd been raised that way, was there any sense in denying it and himself?

"Excellent," Luc cheered, clapping a hand on Remy's shoulder. "It's going to be quite the adventure." The older man left, then, but Remy stayed behind, unable to get over his reluctance in returning to mansion, where everyone was either mad or curious. He stayed there for hours and hours, until it got dark and quiet, and he didn't sleep a wink.

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Aw. The last line is a nod to the fact that this is (I think) the first chapter that failed to feature Remy's dream. But I couldn't put him to sleep again, he just woke up! Although not action-heavy, I feel inclined to mention that this chapter has the honor of finally bridging the beginning of the story with the ending I wrote like, five years ago (okay, maybe it was only two). There isn't a lot more story to go, but a lot more stuff is going to happen, so stick around for the final chapters and happy holidays! Comments, questions, and coconut-flavored candy canes can be sent to me at eileenblzr(at)yahoo(dot)com, or to the Yahoo Messenger ID of the same name. Feel free to visit my LJ, which is linked on my author page. Tootles!


	8. Chapter 8

I've managed to carry my productivity into the New Year! Happy 2008, all! Let's start off the year in a really good way (read: with a review). Pretty please with a Remy on top?

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Chapter Seven: The Good Drink

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She could hear the rushing blood in her ears, could feel the pulse of it in her head and in her limbs, all of it a little more noticeable with every push of her legs as she moved down the streets in a determined sprint. The effect on her often complicated mine was complete. Everything else but that fierce concentration was gone, lost to the moment, to the screech of her lungs and the ache in her limbs as she moved on and forward and –

_Was that Remy__ on the street_

She stopped abruptly; her momentum, denied its onward course, slammed back into her, pushing her back onto her heels; she was, for a moment, breathless. Rogue frowned, pulled the headphones from her ears, and melted as best she could into the brick wall at her side. Her eyes kept a wary gaze on Remy, who was standing on the corner across the intersection, talking to some random person, his face animated and bright.

_Aw, crap_, she thought. The entire purpose of the daily running ritual was to forget about life. That's why she ran on the streets, instead on one of the mansion's treadmills, or through a pre-programmed Danger Room course. There, she would still be subject to interruption; out here, she was free. Except not, apparently, because everything that she'd forgotten came back, swarming her mind like an insect-alien swarm trying to infest her brain.

And it was succeeding, damn it.

She couldn't make out who the girl was – no one Remy had introduced her to before, although that was hardly a shock. It would probably take years to meet all the people Remy knew. This one was being particularly flirtatious, Rogue realized, when the girl reached across to pet his shoulder and kept her palm there, then moved closer and giggled. Rogue mimicked the giggle out of spite, and then rolled her eyes. "Idiot," she breathed, not sure whether she meant the girl, or Remy, who was responding to the attention with an inviting grin. Or, better yet, _herself_, who couldn't stop viewing the spectacle.

"Of all the crappy people ta fall in love with, Ah had ta go on an' get stuck with _that_ one." Why hadn't she lost herself in Luc's attentive gaze, his curved his lips, and silky skin? At least he showed some interest. Having kissed him should have made it better – distracted her at least a little – but all it seemed to do was invite comparisons. Would Remy feel so nice? Taste so sweet?

Maybe she wasn't doing it right. Maybe, Rogue considered, maybe if she just tried a little bit harder to get lost in Luc's attentions, then she'd feel differently. As Professor Xavier was so fond of saying, whenever they discussed her ability to control her powers, _these things take time__ and constant effort_. She liked Luc – was honestly attracted to him – and surely that was enough of a base to carve out something more. That wasn't enough, wasn't it? _Yes, Rogue_, she told herself.

It would (_have to_) be.

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He couldn't be sure, but the figure disappearing down the street in a heavy jog looked a lot like Rogue. He narrowed his eyes and tried to see, but the girl he'd met on the street – ("Call me Gen, okay?") – tugged hard on his arm and said, "Let's go have coffee! I know a great place, lattes like you wouldn't believe. My treat!"

Remy bowed his head and said, "Alas, my Petite, I can't stay." The 'gentlemen' of the X-Men had an extra special training drill to attend, due to an unfortunate incident in the men's locker room that had involved a towel, some toothpaste and a piece of tape. He was '_not to be late_', according to Scott, who'd spoken with a warning tone, and would '_pay dearly'_ if he was, according to Logan, who hadn't needed to. The form of the drill wasn't yet revealed, but it would be something, and Remy couldn't afford to get tied up anymore than he already had been.

"Hmm. Too young to have a wife," Gen remarked, slowly, studying him carefully. "Too jaded to have a mommy. Who's tugging your chain?"

"Work," he said.

"But we haven't even done our introductions." Her bottom lip jutted out in a pout and she clung to him, closer. "I mean, I told you who _I_ am – but you're still just a handsome stranger. At least give me your name so that I know you're real and don't go pining all my life, thinking you might just be a dream I made up one lonely afternoon. Come on, we can start all over again. Hi, I'm Genevieve."

He bit the side of his mouth. "Remy LeBeau. Da Apologetic."

"Remy LeBeau," she repeated, softly. The alert on his communicator rang out, a little beeping tune that made him all the more anxious to be on his way. Now the clock was officially ticking. He had to go. But Genevieve kept her hand tightly on his arm, while the other hand played with a stray curl of hair. "That's weird. It seems _so_ familiar." He gave a gentle pull on his arm, so that she would have to let it go, and she almost got the hint – until all of a sudden, her fingers clamped down, harder than ever, in a way that recalled an eager child more so than the street-side seductress she'd been trying to play. "Oh, I know! Remy _LeBeau_! You're Bella's Remy!"

Her words thundered in his ear. The communicator beeped again, but Remy was momentarily frozen. He blinked, swallowed, and said, "_Oui_." And when Genevieve tried to pull him towards her café one last time, he followed without protest.

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By the time Remy made it to the drill, the drill was over. The scenario, as it turned out, had been a playful one: a bank robbery masterminded by several of the female members of the X-Men team gone rogue; however, the mood when Remy arrived was anything but playful. Only Scott remained at the meet-up point, the steps of a library, and he was kicking at rocks on the ground with the toe of his shoe. "It was a test of response," he said, not bothering to look up when Remy arrived at his side. "Those who got here within the first ten minutes were congratulated immediately; those who were ten to twenty minutes late had to run a couple of miles. Those who were," – Scott paused to glance at the time on his watch – "_an hour and a half late__…_ are receiving this talk."

"I know it looks bad."

"It feels bad, too. Remy, as the leader of this team, I need to know that I can count on you to respond when a distress call goes out. We all have lives – maybe some more than others – but when we signed on for this, we made a commitment to be there for each other." Finally, he lifted his head. "I wish I could say, hey, do better next time and let this pass, but it isn't the first occasion where you've broken faith. I'm sorry – you're being benched."

"Benched?" Remy frowned. "You're kicking me off da team?"

"Off the team? No. Off active duty, yes. I'd like you to continue training with us and we can try to figure the situation out. I'm not going to pretend I know what's happening with you, but I know something is and I think this compromise will afford you the opportunity to work some of that out. In a couple of weeks or so, we'll look over things again and see if we can re-instate you to full, active duty."

The words were – well, _nice_ – but Remy couldn't pretend to miss the basic point underneath them: he'd messed up, enough that the team was rejecting him. They couldn't trust him. They didn't _want_ him. After all that relief he'd felt in finally finding a place to belong, they were kicking him out. Not all at once, but little by little- alienating him, benching him. Maybe they thought that was kinder, but hell – he could take a hint. Remy sank to the steps just as Scott was standing up from them.

"Can I give you a ride back to the mansion?" Scott asked.

"No." Remy shook his head and then buried it into his hands. What would he tell them, anyway_? Sorry I let you down – a girl on __da__ st__reet turned out t'__ be a friend of my dead fiancé, __da__ one I never told you about, and yes, __dat __is another secret__ t' be shocked an' hurt over_. "I'll find my way," he said, hoping he could. And anyways – what else was there for him at the mansion?

At least, he still had time to meet up with Luc and Rogue at the carnival. Maybe he could salvage _something_. There was hope, yet. Luc was turning out to be a friend, and Rogue was… well, Rogue was Rogue. She'd forgive him, if he managed things right. That thought alone was enough to brighten him up some. It was a good idea. A smart idea. He could drink to that.

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A bell chimed as Remy entered La Bonne Boisson, a liquor store with dirty floors and dry air. There were a handful of other customers, but Remy gave them only the briefest glance before heading to his destination – the hard liquor section of the cooler. He was just about there when an elderly woman bumped into him, spilling the contents she'd bundled into her arms – individually wrapped tissue paper, cotton swabs, Red Vine licorice, and a package of plastic forks and knives – all across the isle. She murmured apologies, but Remy was already on his knees, re-gathering the items.

"There was a time when I'd never miss the sight of a handsome, young man, but my eyes are so poor these days, Lord, I just plain didn't see you. Heavens, I don't know what's happening to me. Oh, thank you, dear, thank you." She pet Remy's shoulder while he was still down, and added, "You're a saint, darling."

"Hardly," Remy murmured, reaching further to grab the licorice. It was then that he peered between the isles and noticed a pair of immaculate, shiny, black shoes that were at once familiar to him. He brushed aside a miniature box of cereal to better view the scene on the opposite isle. Sure enough, the shoes led up to pants of equal familiarity – there was no mistaking the shiny, strange, wrinkle-free material. There was an accompaniment, white and coal-stained tennis shoes and ragged jeans. He stood up, handed the old woman her belongings, and then turned back and opened his ears the conversation of Luc and Whoever-Else-That-Was.

"I can't do this – I can't! It's wrong, what would my mother say?"

"Your mother." Luc chuckled, darkly. "When have you ever cared what she thought?"

The feet shuffled to and fro, uncomfortably. "I didn't care… at least, not when it was little stuff she'd never find out anyway. This – if this goes wrong, she's going to know, and she's going to look at me with Those Eyes – the ones that look real sad and disappointed and she'll say 'if only your father was alive'. I hate when she says that. It's like she's saying everything is a waste."

"If you ask me," Luc said, the easy calm of his voice contrasting to the other man's anxiousness. "Everything is going to be a waste if you don't do this. What are you going to go home to? Do you even have a home? The last time I checked, I was providing food and shelter because your roommates threw you out once they learned you were _stealing_ from them."

The feet shifted again. "And whose idea was _that_? Man, I never took from them until you came around, whispering in my ear, twisting my mind. This is _your_ fault and now you want _me_ to fix it by risking everything I have left. And you have the nerve to scoff at me for hesitating? Screw that. Screw _you_!"

"It's okay – be easy," Luc said, and his voice shifted smoothly from cold to warm and placating. "I'm not asking you to do this alone. Haven't I stood by you? Have I let you down at all? I'm your friend- friends tough it out together, and that's exactly what we're going to do. Do this, and I am right behind you."

The white tennis stilled their movement. "Yeah? Yeah, okay." And then they were off, moving slowly down the isle. Remy watched where they cleared the isles and moved past the front counter. The feet belonged to a young man with red hair. Remy frowned at the sight, though. Ever experienced, he recognized an amateur theft-in-progress. The man's pace was off, unnatural, his head was too low, and –worst of all – there was a slight bulge in his back pocket that he hadn't checked.

"Hey!" The owner of the store called out. "What are you doing?" And the man panicked. He turned back immediately to Luc, as if searching for help, but Luc grinned with the sharpness of a wolf and moved to leave the store. When the redhead tried to follow uncertainly, the owner caught his shirt and dragged him back, and everything he'd stored away exploded onto the liquor store floor. "Son of a – I'm calling the police! – Don't you move!"

Something inside Remy cracked.

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Luc had talked a boy into stealing. And not someone like Remy, with a history and skill, but an amateur… and then he'd he left him out to dry. Luc wasn't his friend. Luc was – he was – a _bad_ guy.

_Way to pick 'em._

What did he want with Remy? Nothing good, likely. What did he want with Rogue was the better question. A week ago, Remy thought, he would've called up the X-Men, discussed the discovery and they'd have dealt with it like a team. Now, he was off the team and out of everyone's good graces – who would even believe him if he said that the guest who'd been smiling and charming his way at the mansion (_and with Remy_) was playing them all? Even Rogue would probably glare at him, accuse him of making up stories to cover his own mistakes, and the whole thing would drive her further towards Luc.

_Merde_.

What could he do?

He thought, it was because of him that Luc had showed up in the first place. _He_ was the flame Luc was chasing. _He_ was the one Luc wanted. Maybe – maybe – if he couldn't convince everyone that Luc was a villain, then he could at least draw him away by avoiding the X-Men completely. It would better for them and – maybe – better for him, too. He could deal with the false friend on his own terms, play his game, and let him think he was winning. And Rogue and the other X-Men would be safer.

They'd hardly notice Remy's absence, anyway.

Remy sat outside La Bonne Boisson, a bottle of gin in his hands, and took a long swig.

Then, he drank some more.

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So, the story is finished! No – this isn't the end, but the end is written, thank the good Lord. I have only to post it, the last two chapters – roughly once a week. Then, to 1942 I go! This is amazing, truly amazing. Ha, please help me celebrate with feedback! Comments? Questions? Coconuts? I'm eileenblzr at yahoo mail, or yahoo messenger; I'm comeon-eileen at livejournal.


	9. Chapter 9

Aw, it feels so good to publish the stuff that's been written for like, eighty years! Review and I will love you; failure to review will result in sluggish posting of the next chapter ('cause you know, I'd have to keep stopping to wipe away the river of tears).

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Chapter Nine: On the Footsteps

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Remy chugged back his bottle of brandy and then gave it a cavalier toss straight into the garbage can. He tried to stand – an effort that was met with fierce protest from his head, stomach and legs, all. With a sigh, the Cajun boy dropped back down to the sidewalk, and rolled over, onto his back. The sky above him was filled with dark, angry clouds that seemed to rumble and grunt their disapproval over him (_join the club)_. For them, he had a very special, one-fingered salute.

Was he drunk? Maybe. Probably._ It is decidedly so. _He stretched his hands and felt like playing pool. Of all the things his life had been filled with lately, a good game of pool was not one of them. His coordination would probably be off, but maybe for him (_He of Superb Movement_) that just meant he'd be playing like a perfectly average Joe. He could win a few dollars, buy a couple of drinks, and find a pretty girl with a comfortable bed to take him in for a night. He'd lived like this before.

He didn't need mansions and people, all the people. _Don't do this, Remy. Oh, don't do that. Believe us, ignore him, give me that, take that, go here, stand like this, walk this way, don't stop, don't start, and can't you ever listen? _So many demands. On the streets, he answered only to himself. No rules. No thoughts.

No friends.

No Rogue.

He missed Rogue, already. He wasn't the crying, desperate kind of drunk. But God, he missed the feel of her head on his shoulder and the private jokes no one else understood, and the lilt of her voice when she was halfway intoxicated herself. How he missed his Rogue. Well, not _his_, but...

(_She should be_). In his semi-delirium, long hidden fantasies busted free of their confinements; like pop-tarts shoved down into the toaster too long, they were harder, darker for the trouble. He wanted to taint the virgin skin, so smooth and white and perfect. He wanted to drag it past his dirty hands until there was no space that hadn't been coated in his desire. He ached to feel her lips on him; he yearned to dig his fingers into the soft brush of her hair. From the first moment he'd seen her, he'd wanted to _have_ her.

But then they'd actually met, as people, and the mind behind her face had been (_of all things_) relatable. For the first time with a girl he'd been brought to caution. What if, in pulling her towards intimacy, he accidentally pushed her away? What then? _Careful, careful, careful. _Snorting, Remy thought: he should have done it anyway.

If only he didn't love her so much.

The thought was a boomerang in his mind. He gave it an angry toss and it came spinning back. If he didn't love her. _If he didn't love her. (Wai__t, what?_) He loved her? Really? Somewhere, a light bulb flashed. An anvil fell. He did. He _did_! Why hadn't anyone told him? He laid back on the street, pouting and stunned and more shocked than he should have been, after having come to such a revelation. He loved Rogue! And Rogue, well... she _hated_ him.

Remy groaned and turned over. He wasn't going to move again, not ever. He was going to be a useless, motionless, inept mass of nothingness, and probably, the world would be a better place for it. Scott would replace him on the team with someone who thought orders were great and together they'd save the world; the professor would give away his room to needy orphan toddlers; and, Rogue would find a new best friend (_and marry him_).

Happily Ever After.

He frowned. As long as Luc left everyone alone. Not that there was a real reason for him to _stay_. Everyone else on the team was goody-too-good to fall for that crap he was peddling, and he hadn't shown an interest in any of them, anyway, except for... the frowned deepened, and Remy sat up. Except for Rogue. (_Remy loved her_!) Sharp but hungry Rogue, who craved honest friendships so bad she fell into dishonest ones (_damn it). _He couldn't leave her to Luc. Maybe it was too late for him, but he had to protect her as best he could (because he _loved_ her). He wiped his eyes and turned leftwards, a direction that gave him a clear view of the carnival in the slight distance, dark but not desolate.

Stronger now, he took to his feet, determined that if he could not be his own savior, he would at least be hers.

He owed her that.

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"We shouldn't be here," Rogue said, taking a brief look around the deserted carnival. They were only several feet from a Tilt-a-Whirl, and the bright orange paint, even muted as it was by the night, was discomforting. She tried to wrap herself up in her own arms but Luc stepped and offered his own. At the same time, a cold chill ran down her spine and she attributed it to the windy air. Everything was perfectly fine. She was with Luc, wasn't she? (_She didn't feel fine)_.

"Maybe we should walk," he offered. "The movement will warm us up. Then we can start having fun. Don't worry about anyone catching us – this place has been deserted for a couple years, now. They said it closed down after an accident, and the owner of the plot found it cheaper to just leave everything here to rot."

"Ah've heard the stories," Rogue admitted. "They said it was haunted."

"Only by the likes of us," he assured her, softly.

"Luc," she murmured, pausing their promenade before it'd gotten very far. "Wait a minute, will ya?" They were stopped in front of a concession stand, and the air around it still smelled like corn dogs and cinnamon and cotton candy. When he looked at her expectantly, she took in a deep breath and said, "Why me?"(_Was that too forward a question to ask? She was so out of practice_).

Luc didn't seem to mind. He half-smiled and said, "What do you mean, _why_ _you_?"

"Ah've seen the company ya keep – it includes a lot o' pretty people. So, why me?"

He quirked his lips up in a deeper grin. "I enjoy your company. You're fun. _Lovely_. Perhaps, there's a part of me that recognizes a similarity between us; we're both a little misunderstood, both mistakenly seen as being a little 'fallen from grace' – you with your powers and history, me with my… well, _fall_. Little do they realize we're better for it." His eyes drifted somewhere else, somewhere Rogue's could not follow, but they snapped back abruptly, and he finished with, "That's all."

"Oh," she said, confused. But she'd promised herself that should would _try_ with Luc; she'd put her all into their date, even if it meant pushing aside a couple warning thoughts – after all, weren't those the same voices that were telling her Remy LeBeau was It, The One, her true love? How much could they know? But while she was thinking of it, Rogue dipped her head and said, "So... why Remy?"

"Remy – ah – that's a longer story, I'm afraid." He licked a lip and changed the course of his answer. "Do you know some people believe that everyone in the world is tied together? Like there are invisible threads connecting everyone. You tug on one person, you tug the threads of all the people they're connected to, and the people those people are connected to, and so on. Some of us, I'm sad to say, are connected to very few, and others a multitude. I'm not different than your team of X-Men, really, - I, too, want to change the world. I could do it much easier with Remy on my side."

"He's well connected." She frowned, and for a moment stopped being the girl suddenly in love and resumed her place as 'best friend', the same one who'd gotten used to living with Remy, annoying and frustrating as he could be. "Ya want ta take him from us."

"I want to take you _both_," he corrected. "It's true that I came for Remy, but that was before I had the chance to see you with my own eyes. That changed things, I promise you." He leaned forward suddenly and kissed her mouth again. This time, the shock was gone, and Rogue was able to focus more on the kiss and less on the fact that it was actually happening. And this time, while the wonder of touch remained, there was something _off_… but Rogue shut her eyes and remembered her resolve.

Determined, she kissed him back.

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"Remy! There you are! I found you in time!"

Remy turned around, mid-step, to see Kurt chasing after him, emerging from the shadows with black smoke still clinging at his pointed tail. Kurt's design was a joke, he thought, not for the first time, what else could explain such a sainted heart being encased in a frame so demonic? And Luc was a study in contrast, all shiny brilliance on the outside and darkness on the inside. He looked to where he could see the high, colorful carnival entrance and remembered his rush. "I'm kind o' busy, Kurt."

"But – but you have to stop meeting with Luc! He's dangerous!" Kurt insisted. Worried eyes traveled quickly over Remy in inspection before settling, almost relieved, back at his face. "You're okay, though."

"I'm alive," Remy agreed. He added, "Y' don't have t' worry 'bout any confusion o' trouble when me and Luc meet up, I've seen his true colors, _mon ami_. I'm not fallin' for his tricks any longer. We have some stuff t' settle between us, an' once it's over, he should be gone."

"But it's more serious than that," Kurt said. "I went out looking for you because I had to tell you – I don't think Luc is just a bad guy. I think he might be…" He hesitated like he wasn't sure if he should finish. His hands clenched and unclenched. Then, almost reluctantly, Kurt said, "I think he might be _the_ bad guy."

"Pardon?"

"You know," Kurt flushed. "Mephistopheles? Beelzebub? The Father of Lies? Prince o' Darkness?" He paused. "_Lucifer_?"

Remy blinked. "Da devil? Like, da _devil_. Wit' da fire an' brimstone an' -" He caught Kurt's pained look. "Oh, sorry 'bout dat last part. But seriously – da devil. Like, da same one who went down t' Georgia, 'cause he was lookin' for a -" Remy stopped again. "Soul t' steal." Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"He's been leading you astray since he arrived, whispering in your ear, turning you away from the people you care about. Maybe I should've mentioned it early on, but you were so charmed, and my claim is a little… _strange_. I can hardly believe myself when I saw I think this is happening."

"I wouldn't have believed," Remy admitted.

"And now?"

"We'll see," Remy said, as he turned back to the direction of the carnival. He needed to be faster now, and smarter, and maybe a little less drunk, because if Kurt was right – (_merde_) – then getting Luc to go away was going to be a much greater challenge. How could he say – no thanks, not interested – when someone wanted to take his soul? The request was almost too ridiculous for a serious answer to work.

"You're not still going?" Kurt asked, mildly horrified.

"If what y' say is true, I _have_ t'." Remy explained. "_Rogue's_ with him now. I'm not gonna let him take her instead o' me. More n' ever, I have t' find a way t' save her."

"Then I'm coming, too." Kurt lifted his chin, tightened his jaw, and seemed sure.

"_Non_." Remy held Kurt back with the palm of his hand. "An' let you get hurt, too? Not on my watch. I'm already involved, stuck in da fryin' pan, but you're not. Go be safe. Tell da team t' be ready t' rescue her in case I fail. Every plan needs a back-up."

"Ja," Kurt said, wryly. "That's going to happen."

Remy sighed. "Fine. Nevermind. Y' want t' walk int' da pit o' hell wit' a misdirected Cajun boy" – and maybe that was slight exaggeration of the carnival – "do it, but at least be useful. Can't y' bring us a cross o' something. Tools o' da trade, so t' speak?"

"Right. I leave, and you'll just wait here for me to come back. I wasn't born yesterday."

The Cajun placed his hands on Kurt's shoulders and looked solemnly into his eyes. "Kurt, I've had a very bad week. It feels like da world hates me an' imagines I'm lyin' every time I open my mouth. Please, _please_, give me a _lil'_ _faith_ an' _trust_ me? I need some kind o' reassurance before I go an' face Beetlejuice o'er there, hm? Please."

Kurt hesitated. "You'll wait for me?"

"I will not move beyond dis block."

Kurt frowned. "You promise?"

"I _promise_. Cross my heart an' hope t' not be sworn int' immortal slavery by da devil. Cajun's honor."

Kurt finally gave a conceding nod. He swallowed hard and said, "I'll be fast." He teleported away, leaving Remy to breathe in the dark smoke. The Cajun sighed, shook his head, and moved down the street, towards the carnival. _No wonder no one trusted him_.

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"I'm leaving town for a short while, I'd like you to accompany me." Luc kissed Rogue's hand and added, "It's a business trip and sure to be dull if I make it on my own. I'll bring you back when it's over, or as soon as you decide you want to return." He kissed her fingers again. "I promise to make it worth your while."

Rogue gave him a smile and tried to show interest. "Where are ya headed? I bet it turns out be some super excitin', chance o' a lifetime opportunity. The way ya sell stuff, it's like Mount Rushmore is just some set o' rocks an' the Eifel tower is just a couple o' metal poles."

He ducked his head. "I won't deny I've traveled enough to make most architectural and technological wonders seem mundane, but if the experience has taught me anything, it's that the real thrills come in knowing worthwhile people – people like _you_, Rogue. People like Remy. I would price a good thinker over any structure, anywhere in the world."

She said, "Am Ah a good thinker?"

"Yes," he said, "And something else just as good – a fantastic listener. That's why you're perfect company for this trip I'm going to take – I can listen to you when I'm bored and talk to you when I need to focus. It's a match made in – well, that is, it's a match. A _good_ one. We're both going to have a blast."

The way he sold it, it sounded awfully nice. And maybe the time with him, away from conflicting concerns, would help her clear her head and she'd fall for him more genuinely. At best, she would be living happier, and at worse, she'd have to ask him to take her home earlier. But he'd already promised the last part if she wanted it. The stakes were so low. She opened her mouth and said – "Remy?"

Luc released her at once and turned to see the sight she'd remarked on: there was Remy, moving towards them like a dark cloud, with grim lips and a furrowed brow. "Rogue," the Cajun acknowledged, but his attention was solidly focused on Luc.

Luc opened up his arms and moved to touch Remy, but when he was close enough, the Cajun caught him, tugged him close and whispered, "All our secrets can't stay hidden. I know who y' are, _Luc_, an' I didn't come t' hand off da deed t' my soul."

"Oh, Remy," the other man sighed and whispered back, "I think its darling you think you have a choice."

Rogue approached them cautiously, but she was kept back, as if by some invisible barrier; she tried again and there was nothing that should have stopped her – she passed her hand over the space and met with no resistance – but something was holding her back. She tried to call out Remy's name, but couldn't find the words. Trapped, she could only watch as Luc seized Remy and pushed him up against a wall.

Luc pinned him there and rested his head on one of Remy's shoulder. "Look," he said, "The thing is, you can't just change your mind. This – me – your fall – It's who you are. So instead of protesting so valiantly maybe you should share whatever it is that's been troubling you so that I can fix it. Is there some little secret you've been hiding from me? The women not enough? Maybe you'd like to sample from a wider selection? Violent tendencies left unfulfilled? Thirsty for more drinks? You know money will never be a problem. Tell me and I will get it for you. Remember what I said before –anything, anywhere, and anyone. The offer still stands."

Remy took a breath. "Love," He said.

Luc's fingers had circled one of his wrists, and they tightened there. When he spoke, his voice was strained. "What did you say?"

"I want love, Luc. Real love. Can y' give me dat?"

"Remy, I-"

"Like me like a lot. I get it. But dat's not what I'm requestin'."

"I can do love."

Remy shook his head. "I'm not so sure, _mon ami_."

"There are so many different ways of expressing it."

"I'm talkin' about da feelin'."

"Remy, I know what you're saying." Luc said after a pause. "And I think you might've caught me, much as I loathe admitting it. I don't deal in real love. I find it distasteful. But you see…the problem with your _walking away from me_… is that I kind of already own you. Your father –the biological one, of course, interesting man- gave me your soul in exchange for some materials. So while I can appreciate your thirst for true affection, surely, you must understand that my hands are tied in the matter. You belong to me."

Remy's brain wasn't sane enough, sober enough, to completely understand what Luc was telling him. He blinked and told himself that Luc was lying. Again. Luc always lied. His soul wasn't sold to… That wasn't possible.

Though, it would explain so much.

It would explain why his every attempt at being the 'nice guy' always ended badly.

It would explain why he couldn't seem to keep a vow.

If his life had been pre-determined from the moment his father made the deal, then nothing he did could be helped. It wasn't his fault; the crimes, the betrayals, the mistakes were already written out in the stars. _Planned_. That's why he was easily swayed by Luc's suggestions. He was just a puppet, or a glob of clay to be shaped in whatever way the devil saw fit. There was no avoiding it.

_No avoiding it_.

It occurred to him that he was barely standing; Luc was supporting him, keeping up.

And maybe it'd been that way his whole life.

"Remy!" The voice was loud, desperate. It stole both their attentions momentarily. There was Kurt, caught up already, without so much as a Bible or cross to show for it. Where were the tools? The crosses, the vats of holy water, the… garlic. Remy giggled, a feeling of helpless seeping into him. This wasn't a movie on TV, where there was always a chance for the dashing young heroic. Kurt's intentions were going to get him…killed? Did it work that way? Could the devil just out and out strike him dead?

"I thought we talked about this, Kurt." Luc said, his baritone deepening into something darker.

"Remy, you can't trust him. If your fate was already set in stone, why would he bother at all? I'm sure there are a great number of people whose parents haven't sold their child to Satan. He could be out, stealing them. But he knows –and you have to know- it doesn't work that way. You make the choice. You decide."

"Don't listen to him, Remy," Luc warned.

"Trust me!" Kurt insisted.

"You're mine already!"

"Remy_, no_."

"Shut up, Kurt." Luc waved a hand, and the younger man went quiet. He rolled his eyes. "Look, let's make this easier. Let's pretend you're dreaming, Remy. You know, in dreams, you're deepest desires come to light. Let your own subconscious lead you to your fate. I'm not worried. It's going to lead back to _me_." He laughed, darkly, madly, before gently caressing the side of Remy's face. And then, suddenly, he struck him, and the world went instantly black.

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Oh, snap! Only one more chapter left, and it's just itching to be posted! But first, you guys have to provide feedback for _this_ chapter. Tell me what you thought – please? Comments, questions, and coconuts can be sent to me at Eileenblzr at Yahoo, or to the YIM of the same name; alternatively, I can frequently be found haunting LiveJournal, where I am Comeon-Eileen.


	10. Chapter 10

Eep! I know, this is a tad late – my apologies. I am actually working two jobs now, as a sub and a secretary, and the shock of it threw off my groove. Anyhow, here it is, the Big Finale (or perhaps I should say the 'Big Damn Finale'). Finally! Anyways, read on.

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Chapter Nine: Eighteen Years

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_Remy was running from someone. _

(When did this happen?)

_At first, he thought his pursuers were the police, and that thought made him giddy. His feet__ moved faster in response;__ his eyes scanned the foggy bac__kdrop for any place to hide; but,__ all the walls were solid, not a window or small corner in sight. Never mind. Remy chewed on the corner of his lip and indulged himself with a sharp grin. He could outrun them. He was bursting with energy and adrenaline__, bubbling under the skin__; this was the sensation he'd been missing._

(But there was something else.)

_T__hen, he passed them,__ nearly tripping over their bodies__. He__ kicked up his legs in a jump to avoid falling over __the boys in blue__ – the fuzz – the cops – the _police_, who lay scattered and far from consciousness.__ Heads back, mouths open, a crust of blood on one's temple.__ The giddy feeling left him, and a newfound sense of dread __moved in to fill the empty space. If__ the police weren't after him, who was?_ _He dared a peek o__ver his shoulder and saw only a piece of paper lying __on the floor. He fell out of his run and went to pick it up.__ A deed.__ The scribbling was small, red, and he didn't bother reading it because it seemed insignificant to the property being signed away: himself. The signature at the bottom was unfamiliar to him, but he memorized it anyway. John Black, it read_

(A feeling of familiarity…)

"_Remy?" He turned, and saw Luc, all concern and worry. The older man walked up to him and tossed an arm over his shoulder. Luc gave him a brief, comforting squeeze. "You're not alone, you know. I'm here with you. I'll always be here. This__" –__ and__ here he snatched the deed away – "I__sn't anything you should fear."_

"_I don't understand it," Remy said.__ He shook off a shiver and turned to see where the police had been, but they were gone now._

"_You do," Luc assured him. "Trust me."__ He led them both a handful of steps, and they came upon a set of mirrors, curved like they were part of a funhouse._

(Where were they at, again?)

_If he squinted, Remy could make out the shape of a monster, and he coiled back in disgust and horror. A string of curses slipped out in a hushed, harsh whisper. The hand on his shoulder dug in harder, until he could feel nails pressing into his skin. "Resist the urge to flee, Remy."_

_Blinking hard, Remy said, "What is dat?"_

_"Isn't it obvious?" Luc shook his head, like he couldn't believe Remy hadn't caught on yet._

_Remy looked back to the monster, all claws and teeth and bloody, matted fur. "Big foot?"_

_"Not quite."_

_"It__'__s…"_

_"You? Is that what you hesitate in asking? There are a lot of mirrors here, Remy. That could so easily be a reflection of you. Your inner demon. Or, of mine, I suppose, but I feel fairly certain I don't have an inner demon." He laughed. "Anyway, there's only one way to find out if it's you or if it isn't."__Remy wanted to say that he didn't care. Him or not, it was freaky, and he would be perfectly fine to just leave it alone. Walk away. Was there an exit to the funhouse from hell? There had to be. How else would he have wound up inside? If he could just find it__… __But Luc pulled him closer to the monster and all protests died on his tongue. Certainly, they didn't register in his feet, which moved exactly where they were instructed.__ Closer, until he could see it__s sharp claws, curling tail, and bright eyes. Bright red eyes._

_"It is me." He whispered. He turned to Luc, because the man seemed to have all the answers. "What do I do now?"_

_"I've heard that some people battle their inner demons, Remy." Of course. Except…_

_"But he's a reflection in da mirror. An' even if he weren't, I don't have no weapons. He's got claws." Sharp claws, at that._

_"And I thought you were supposed to be resourceful. Reach in and pull him out. You don't need weapons. You've got spirit."_

_He had spirit. Yes. He had spirit. Remy swallowed hard and stuck his hand towards the glass. Amazingly, it went right through. His fingers curled around the shirt that the demon was wearing. He gave a yank, and the demon stumbled. Remy laughed. Was he real__ly that strong? How _empowering_He grinned, and attacked._

_After a moment and a few well-placed hits, the demon started fighting back. Claws sank into Remy's arm, and he hissed, but didn't cry out. "Dat all y' got?" He teased, aiming a kick at the demon's leg. It didn't land where it should've, because suddenly the demon was standing on the other side of him. He couldn't help but frown._

_"Don't give up," Luc encouraged._

_"I'm not," Remy promised. He attacked again, catching the demon off guard. They both tumbled to the ground, taking and landing hits. At last, Remy gained the upper hand. He grinned triumphantly when his hand caught the demon's throat. The demon squirmed, whimpered slightly, but did not struggle anymore. To Luc, Remy asked, "What do y' do wit' inner demons when da __fight__in__' stops?" He'd never gotten this far in the battle._

_"Simple. You kill them."_

_"Oh." He could do that. He tightened his grip, locking the air out of the demon's lungs. Tighter, tighter, tighter… then,__ abruptly,__ loosened his hand._

_"Why are you hesitating?"_

_"Why do I have t' kill him? I mean…he's subdued."_

_"He's going to come back and haunt you again."_

_"So I'll beat him again."_

_"He'll be stronger."_

_"I'll be stronger."_

_"Remy. Kill him!"_

_"I don't want to."_

_"Do it!" Luc roared, and in his anger, his face morphed. It grew grotesquely red, misshapen, distorted. It grew frightening._

_Remy stood up, away from the demon. "What da hell…"_

_"Kill him or I will kill you, Remy LeBeau. I've not wasted my time for nothing. I will have you, one way or another."_

_"Who are you?"_

"I am the master of this world!" Luc screamed, and suddenly Remy was awake – back at the carnival, and there was Kurt at his feet, hurt and bruised, maybe unconscious, but thankfully still breathing; not a demon, after all, but a _friend_. Everything came back in one screeching, screaming, forceful rush that crashed through Remy's head like the worst hangover of his life. _Never trust the devil__, not for anything_. He repeated that thought as he raised his head, tilted his chin upwards, and met Luc, face-to-face. Face-to-_something_, anyway. The older man had transformed into a great, powerful, hulking and immensely dark figure, only visible in the shadows, but enough to be scary as hell.

"Maybe da master o' da world as a whole," Remy said, and thought – he couldn't lose his new family – he couldn't lose Rogue – "But y' got no hold on' dis boy. Whatever y' wanted me t' do for y', it's gonna have t' get done sans Remy LeBeau."

The dark figure lurched forward. "Eighteen years I've waited for this – do you know the trouble I took for you? What makes you think you could possibly reject me? Who are you to tell me no? I am everything, everywhere. I am power, personified. I will _not_ be denied by the likes of you, Remy LeBeau. Not on any count."

"Well," Remy said, swallowing air and hoping there was a good degree of courage mixed in. "I think y' about t' learn a very valuable lesson. I intend t' rise an' fall on m' own merits, guided by m' own conscience. I am not yours t' keep, Luc. I am my own man. An' dat girl, my Rogue? I love her, an' you can glide in on dat fancy talk, but at da end o' da day, she knows me, she _trusts_ me, and she's gonna be on _my_ side. Which, t' recap, is not on yours." Luc turned to see Rogue, who was still locked in place. But surely he recognized as clear as Remy did that she was no longer swayed; the spell was broken; _Rogue was saved_.

Luc reddened and reddened until he seemed about to explode entirely, but then, abruptly, he shrank back to his former size and form, becoming the handsome, bright and pale man who'd first entered their lives. "Okay," he said, almost sweetly. "Okay. I'm beat – there's no denying that. Go on, Remy. Go be good. Give it the old college try. But I know you better than you know yourself. You're going to fail. And when you do?" Luc brushed another not-there wrinkle from his perfect black suit before giving a quick shrug. "I'm going to be waiting."

Remy blinked and he was gone.

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"Ah placed a call ta the mansion. Help is on the way." Rogue sniffled from the cold and dropped down to her knees, down to eye level with Remy, who was sitting at Kurt's side. "An' Ah found your cops – looks like they're just beat up some an' sleepin'. It seems like we've got a happy endin' after all – thanks ta _you_." She bit a lip. "Just a little bit longer an' Ah'd be in a remake o' _Rosemary's Baby_. So much for my moral high ground – should've left the preachin' an' lecturin' ta Kurt an' Scott."

"Non." Remy had found an inch-long twig, and he played with it now, scratching at the gravel floor, drawing signs and scribbles of nothing. "If I'd behaved, we wouldn't be in dis boat at all. Chere, y' got nothin' t' apologize for. I should've been more…" He sighed. "Responsible."

She managed the hint of a smile. "We are gettin' old, aren't we. Growin' up sucks. It looks so good on other people, like when Logan slips out for a weekend away, o' how Ororo walks around like she owns the world. But here we are an' Kurt's unconscious an' the police are passed out an' all Ah can think is, this is what happens when we follow our own instincts. Disaster. Mayhem." Rogue bowed her head and said, "Ah heard ya talkin' ta Luc." She almost winced and Remy felt his heart sink through his torso and spill out onto ground around him.

_She didn't want him. She was trying to figure out how to let him down._He felt his heart thud-thud-thud and thought – how stupid was it, that he could find the courage to face down Evil itself, but couldn't handle the thought of Rogue knowing he loved her and not reciprocating. What to say? _It's okay – I meant __it __in a platonic way._Remy almost took it back, almost forced a (fake) sly grin onto his face and denied the whole thing. But the consequences of his previous lies hadn't even settled in yet, and it was too early, too soon, to start telling tales again.

"The thing is this," Rogue finally said. "All this time Ah've been actin' like Ah was mad at ya, an' the truth is Ah'm mad at me. While we were in Luc's game, somethin' bad happened. No, nothin' like that." She rolled her eyes and waved off his sudden concern. "Ya kissed me. An' Ah liked it."

"I – I wasn't anywhere near," Remy said. "I swear."

"Ah know that." She coughed. "It wasn't real. But ever since, Ah can't help but think – if only it was." Color seeped into her face and she wrinkled her nose, as if the thought wasn't _really_ that pleasant – like she was admitting a sudden addiction to a foul-tasting meal.

Remy didn't respond, not right away. He looked at Kurt, who breathing steadily and seemed all right, except for some new bruises and the lack of consciousness; he placed a hand on the other boy's shoulder, then reached across and took one of Rogue's hands. It was nice – _sweet__, assuring, warm, everything he'd been missing and needing_ - and it was only begrudgingly that he broke the moment, grinned, and said, "I guess y' really couldn't resist my charms after all."

"Your face is gonna find it awfully hard ta resist my fist if ya don't shut up."

"I understand y' hands are attracted t' my person, but for propriety's sake, y' gonna have t' play it cool."

"Ya know what else is cool? Dead Cajuns."

"An' long, hard… popsicles," he added.

"Tasted your share, have ya?"

"Please." The word was more of a moan, and it came from Kurt, who suddenly blinked his eyes open. "I'm injured, not deaf," he said. "And I think listening to this is corroding my brain."

"Kurt!" Remy cheered. "You're alive."

"And you seem… not indentured to Satan."

"I'm – not quite free," Remy admitted. "I got a darkness in me I can't seem t' shake."

"Join the club," Kurt said, moaning again as he tried to push himself up into a sitting position. "Who's perfect?"

"Well, if y' listen t' da _ladies_…"Remy started, then paused when Rogue raised an eyebrow. "I mean, I'm sure somethin' interestin' would be said – 'course, I wouldn't know. Ooh, is dat a Tilt-a-Whirl?"

To Kurt, Rogue said, "We're gonna get over this, aren't we. Ah mean, Ah think it'll get worse once it all sinks in, but – we're gonna be okay."

"Ja," the blue mutant said. "I think so." He glanced at his watch. "What time is it? I bet we still have school tomorrow. Education doesn't care about the epic battle between good and evil."

"School?" Rogue shook her head. "We gotta figure out how ta celebrate Remy's birthday. It's after midnight – he's eighteen."

"How about we all go home," Remy said. "Couldn't imagine a better place t' spend my time." He waited a beat, then added, "'Course, it wouldn't hurt t' invite our old friends Jack Daniels and Cap'n Morgan.

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_May Black stared at her baby a good long time, wiping tears from her own face and smearing them onto the smooth, perfect surface of her child's skin, as she tried to memorize the feel of him in her arms. "So sorry, Baby Boy," she murmured to him. "So very, very sorry." She cast one last gaze around and then settled him down on the sidewalk. What else to do?_

_Slowly, she retreated from her son. _

_Left him, to save him. _

_As she went, she kept a prayer on her lips – God bless you, she thought._

_He did._

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Some notes. I wanted to write a story about Remy and the devil; originally, it was going to be sequel to The Freedom Caper, but then I wanted a fic that had Rogue and Remy as friends (with possibility) and it spiraled off into its own story. The story is sort of a homage to Stephen King's The Man in the Black Suit, which is itself an homage to Nathaniel Hawthorne's Young Goodman Brown; I was fascinated by the idea of the devil in a black suit, but I thought – if he is going to seduce Remy, there has to be something beautiful and dangerous and alluring about him (and here, I used as a secondary inspiration M. Rosenbaum's portrayal of Lex Luthor). I wanted a really dark story, but I like the way it turned out, anyways. I hope you did, too! Stay tuned for more stories and check out the ones I am already working on, esp. 1942 because it's getting updated next. Who doesn't love a good WWII fic?

Questions? Comments? Coconuts? I'm Eileenblzr at Yahoo or YIM, and comeon-eileen at livejournal.

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